My husband’s beloved older brother passed away on Christmas morning.
Many people might think a death on Christmas Day would taint the holiday, bringing up an unpleasant and unwelcome memory year after year.
But we believe future Christmases will actually be more special and meaningful, and we can feel this way because my brother-in-law not only lived a purposeful and rewarding life, but he died a good death.
I subscribe to the belief that no one should die alone or afraid, and death is a natural part of the life cycle that can be—should be—a sacred, deeply meaningful experience.
Sadly, too often that’s not the case. Our current health care system doesn’t do death well at all. Unless they qualify for hospice, patients and their families are left feeling helpless, confused and afraid. Sometimes angry.
I’ve always believed that if I were diagnosed with a terminal illness and had a choice between a few months of quality living and a few extra months filled with doctors’ visits, surgeries, lab tests and drug treatments, I would choose quality of life.
Many friends, some of them doctors, have told me, “Oh, you think that now, but when the times comes the will to live is just too … read on
I just read that the brilliant physician-writer Oliver Sacks died yesterday from a rare form of eye cancer. Although he had been diagnosed with the disease several years ago, he learned earlier this year that the cancer, a form of melanoma, had spread aggressively into his liver.