A “good” death. I ponder, what is it?

Is it the 85 year old whose family is surrounding her reciting beautiful memories?

Is it the man who has fought pancreatic cancer to its end and accepted the finality of his breath?

Is it the mother who gained six more months to reconcile relationships and heal wounds?

Is it the patient who receives full control of their transition out of this world?

Is it freedom from pain? Is it life experiences? Or how about spirituality?

Perhaps it is one’s perspective on death which makes it “good”.

Whether they see it as an end or a beginning or a cycle.

Or maybe there is no time stamp, no pattern for which we make classifications.

As one hears the cry of a newborn baby atop her mother’s chest,

The joy of birth and life and humanity is celebrated – it is sacred.

In the same way, the last thought, movement, breath of that individual is just as sacred.

Some see death as the black shadow that lingers,

Waiting to grab hold of us, in any moment, ready or not.

The fear of the inevitable hinders the beauty of finiteness,

For if we truly had forever, would we cherish as much?

Would we take the risk to love, to create, to adventure, to start afresh?

Would we feel the need for forgiveness, for resolution, for commitment?

Would we hold the hand of someone we love a little tighter,

Would we grasp the beauty of a morning sunrise a little longer?

I am unsure if the phrase “good death” sits right within me.

“Good” does not encompass the various meanings of death.

It suggests morality to a natural process we all experience.

Death is always hard, whether it be from old age, or a tragic accident, or a stillbirth.

The very concept of death is difficult to hold, even if everything was done “right”.

So I guess I’m choosing to live in the tension between what is a natural process,

And what is also the source of immense grief and change and soul transition.

I will honor the sacredness of life and death,

Looking to the narrative of the patient beside me to hold them in the highest honor.