Goodbye to all that
Surrender with grace. That’s what the yoga teacher said as we were settling into a difficult posture. This not something I do very well, this surrendering thing. And rarely with grace. But it is what Tom did, was brave and strong and wise enough to do. Was allowed to do because we live in Oregon.
I am referring to his decision to make use of Oregon’s Death with Dignity. We talked about it back when it was first enacted twenty-four years ago, two vibrantly healthy people with a houseful of small children and busy, active lives. We supported it, embraced it, were proud of our state for enacting such a deeply thoughtful, empathetic approach to end of life. Years later, when California voters had an opportunity to vote on similar legislation, I wrote a long piece for the LA Times that chronicled the deaths of two men, an Oregonian with the choice to make a dignified exit and a California man forced to contemplate illegally stockpiling pills or putting a pistol in his mouth.
Our discussions were theoretical, political, medical. But not really personal. Or they were personal only in the sense that we both said, yes, this is how we would want to go. But we didn’t think we would actually, you know, go. We didn’t actively contemplate our own demise. Why should we? In the words of Tom Petty, the future was wide open.
Until it wasn’t.
He didn’t surrender immediately. Of course he didn’t. He did the research. He was beyond qualified to do the research, to deep-read, parse and understand the studies. He chose his doctor wisely. He had surgery, radiation, powerful (need I add debilitating) rounds of chemotherapy. There were good days, good weeks. There were carefully planned trips, not as adventurous as we were used to, but still adventures. And then there was more research, and an attempt at another treatment. And then, suddenly—it seemed suddenly although it was a year in coming—there was nothing left to do except to sit on the back deck facing the weakening autumn sun and surrender.
Him, not me. He read Lao-tzu and watched the leaves turn orange on the sugar maple. He listened to the jays that circled the bird feeder. He napped and dreamed and talked about his dreams. Me? I worked my way through prodigious to-do lists. I made soup. I finished a writing project for him. I bought high-quality linen for the awful hospital bed that was now center stage in our living room. I searched online for slippers to fit his swollen feet. I kept doing because to stop doing meant I was giving up. Notice I use “giving up” instead of “surrendering.”
His exit that Friday evening in mid-October, with me and the children encircling the bed, was not about giving up. It was powerful. It was intentional. It was graceful. It was ceremonial. It was, in a way that only those who witness such moments can understand, magical. I will learn from this.
(The image is a double-selfie I took in the backyard the day before Tom chose to leave.)
32 comments
My cousin who resided in the Netherlands surrendered after debilitating chemo treatments that were going no where. He celebrated his 50th birthday, invited friends a family so everyone could celebrate each other and also say good bye. He was able to leave this world with no more pain and with dignity. Seemed so right.
My husband did not have that opportunity. Even when he lost a lot of weight and didn’t eat for two weeks, I thought he would survive. I was keeping busy arranging doctors’ appointments and birthday visits and trying to serve him his favorite food. He just withered away and suffered a great deal of pain silently. I so wish that he could have surrendered on his own terms and avoided the anguish, pain and indignities.
What is the most bizarre to me is that we treat our animals, at the end of their lives, with more compassion and dignity than we treat people. Endings are sad. They do have to be, in your words, anguished, painful and full of indignities. Thank you for sharing both of those very different stories.
Lauren Kessler – Thank you for being brave enough to share all of this. As much as people love you and as many people who love you, there is lifting or easing of the whoosh of the sudden vacuum left by the death of someone you loved so well for so long. What a gift you were given to be present as the door materialized and he walked through – a change of venue but love remains.
Yes. Absolutely.
Thank you, Lauren. This is beautiful and thought-provoking.
Thank you for sharing this tender and eloquent piece of writing. Hospice guided us to a peaceful and painless death for our daughter Jodi. Everyone deserves that dignity and peace at the end.
Beautiful, honest piece of writing, Lauren. Welcome to the countryside of the grievers. It is a large and graceful company of fellow travelers, all alike. Have a seat. Sit a while. You’re among friends. Tears allowed. No one will notice.
I guess, eventually, we are all fellow travelers, huh? Thanks for these lovely (dare I say POETIC) words.
What a touching tribute to Tom. Your writing was one of honesty and grace. Hugs to you and your family!
Thank you. That’s exactly what I intended it to be.
I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. He was a coworker, a friend, a mentor. I have so many memories. He was someone I loved, but I’m glad he could leave on his own terms. Much love to you and your family. My heart breaks for you.
Beautiful tribute, Lauren. I am so sorry. Thinking of you and your family.
Katie ♥️
What a lovely graceful passage so full of images embodying life while it ebbs. I could really relate to the description of your busy tasks; chasing some semblance of control. It prompted my own memory of buying high thread count sheets for my mother dying of cancer. While she focused on taking in all the beauty near her. This legislated compassion in Oregon is a welcome gem and you describe it well.
Of all the people I can think of, you are the best person to carry this message out to the world. I know that the Death With Dignity option does not work for everyone- for a variety of reasons- some connected with the requirements. But when it works, it is a reminder of how lucky we are to have that option. Thank you for letting us into this precious, personal and poignant experience.
Thank you, Sue. The requirements are very specific, and the process and paperwork are not for the faint of heart (or for those dying and in pain who lack the support and assistance of others). I understand why that is, although I do not agree. I try to imagine the uproar if every person with an ailing dog or cat had to go through this process to allow their animal friend to die peacefully.
Thank you, Lauren. I missed his passing. Tom was one of my all time favorite bosses. He handle everything with grace and humor. May your memories fill your future with peace and joy. Hugs to all.
My heart is with you and your family, Lauren. Thank you for sharing your beautiful and powerful tribute.
Lauren- Thank you for sharing this writing with all of us. Thank you for the photograph, too.
Lauren, I’m so sorry. Thanks for writing that wonderful tribute.
Oh Lauren,
I’m so sorry. Like you, Tom was a great mentor and friend. He helped me through some awfully rough patches in my career and always had sage advice. His bravery at the end of his life must have been extraordinary. Will there be a memorial service or a gathering of his friends to remember him? If so, I would like to be there. All my love and affection, Doug
Thanks, Doug. We had a very small outdoor gathering for Tom in early November.
Lauren, thank you for this honest and deep comment. Tom was a fine person, and I remember him fondly. I could not manage anything so eloquent when David died 5 years ago from cancer. At that time there was almost zero infrastructure in Eugene for Death with Dignity applications — all the difficult issues that needed to be handled by people who are barely coping. So a friend started End of Life Choices Eugene so that people could actually get a second signature along with all the other requirements. I think they have made a difference. David and I waited it out – I fussed around as you describe, and he entered a different place which was way more healthy. I still miss him, but the good memories have pushed out the tape of the end days that seemed to play for quite awhile. I hope the same happens for you. Peace and love. Margaret
We heard about ELCORE but maybe because we had talked about DWD so many years ago or maybe because I wrote that big piece for the LAT or maybe because Tom’s oncologist was “experienced,” we were able to make our way through the process ourselves. I am so glad that organization is there.
Reading all these words over and over~I have to stop and take a breath and wipe away tears. I think I have a new understanding of the term “Dignity” thanks to you and Tom and I love you so much for that gift. See you one of these days near a familiar ocean ~ until then…love
Lauren, I took you to the cold sandy shoulder of Lake Michigan for coffee today (unbeknownst to you, of course, 2000 miles away) to sit with the rush and roar of the waves and thoughts of Tom’s life and life’s work, his surrender, and yours. Have found Francis Weller’s The Wild Edge of Sorrow — the title alone — and your reflections a reminder of what is there to be discovered at the edge and beyond. Thank you for sharing this way with us. Love.
Ah, I have memories of sitting on that cold, sandy shoulder. Thanks for these healing words.
From one never-surrenderer to another, I’m so grateful you’ve shared your experience & that Tom had control over his passing. Two people–a family friend and my father both passed without this benefit of dignity. One was out of state, the other too far gone. The suffering is both pain/anguish for the sick, and a scar on the loved ones. I’m sad the requirements are as strict as they are, but so glad that Tom was able to surrender peacefully. Hugs all around.
Thank you, Ms. Never-Surrender, for being a part of our family and for holding us (especially one of us!) in your heart.
Lauren, I was so very sorry to learn of Tom’s death. I felt like I knew him through your writing. My 30 year old son passed away in February 2020 after a ten year long battle with two brain tumors. He had good years and bad years, but ultimately one of the tumors grew back as a glioblastoma. I live in New York and hospice was as helpful as they possibly could be, but his death was not peaceful and I will never recover from it. I loved “Dancing With Rose” and have purchased the book and given it to more than a dozen friends who are facing the challenge of caring for aging parents. Your work has touched my life in immeasurable ways. Take care.
Thanks and gratitude for this, Gail. I think we can learn and heal while not ever really “recovering.” That is my hope.
It has been almost 20 years since I last saw you, Tom and your precious kids but my memories remain vivid and deeply touching. Zane snd Sammy tied at the hip. Tom, I his quietness, was always present. A ribbon of connection always. I am toasting Tom and you and the partnership and family I was witness to. Sending you love and blessing. May Tom’s memory always be for a blessing Lauren.
This is so lovely, Sharen. Some people (amazingly few of them) know just what to say. That friendship between Zane and Sammy was something to behold. What a joy it was for our families to be connected through those two.
Leave a Comment