We do not know where death awaits us:
So let us wait for it everywhere.
To practice death is to practice freedom.
A man who has learned how to die
Has unlearned how to be a slave.
Michel de Montaigne
Gerontologists have learned from their studies of the aged that traumatic events—widowhood, menopause, loss of a job, even death—are not experienced as traumas if they were anticipated and, in effect, rehearsed as part of the life cycle.
I’ve been rehearsing for my death for decades. This may seem gruesome to some people. My friend, singer Michael Jackson, certainly did. He was too scared to even begin to countenance that he might not live forever.
I even make an effort to imagine myself at 95 years old and about to die. I see myself lying on a bed, frail and wrinkled. I can feel my soft little dog (alas, it won’t be my current dog) curled under my arm. My children and grandchildren surround me. Most of my closest friends are younger than I am and I see them there as well—coming and going as their lives permit. I know that what I want most is to see love in their faces. I know that I will have to live my life between now and then so as to deserve that love. I know that, in order to be able to recognize their love and respond to it, I need to keep my mind alert. I know that in my dying I want to try to communicate my love for them along with a sense of the appropriateness of death. My friend, Zen priest Joan Halifax, wrote that “we have an intuition that a fragment of eternity within us will be liberated at the time of death.” Maybe my friends and family will be able to sense this. Joan also told me about her father two days before he died. A nurse approached him and asked, “How are you feeling, Mr. Halifax?” to which he replied, “Everything.” I’d like to be able to say this right before my death. I feel everything, the pure interconnectedness and interdependence of us all and I know that to do so I will need to learn to have an open, accepting, love-filled heart and that doesn’t just happen. It takes work.
I recognize my tendency to plan everything out according to my vision and I know that I mustn’t cling too possessively to this death narrative but the awareness of it helps me to live every day more fully. The truth is none of us can know what kind of death we will have. It could come instantly or be long and painfully drawn out. I may not be able to communicate at all when the end comes. But I’m glad that I am thinking about all this even though it may not happen for another twenty or thirty years—or more.
In 1981, my father died three minutes before I arrived at Cedar-Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles. When I came into his room I could see he was gone but I desperately wanted to sit with him, touch him, experience closure and try to grasp what was left when the spirit has gone. The nurses would have none of it. They insisted we leave so they could “clean him up.” Western societies do not psychologically equip us to confront death. It’s viewed as an indignity that needs to be “cleaned up.” But if you really think about it, life exists only in relation to death just as light exists only in relation to dark and sound exists only in relation to silence. Very old people know this. None of the centenarians I have interviewed were afraid of dying. On the contrary, their very proximity to it seems to give their lives exquisite meaning.
Not all societies are as death-denying as ours. All indigenous, pre-industrial, pre-capitalist cultures not only venerate the aged, they consciously cultivate a life-affirming death awareness. In Vietnam, the bones of the deceased are buried in the fields so that they will fertilize the rice that feeds their families and, thus, it is believed there is physical and spiritual continuity and the children inherit the strength of their ancestors.
In Mexico you can see death all around you as part of everyday life: Souvenir shops display miniature skeletons dancing and playing instruments and chocolate candies shaped like skeletons. On All Saints Day—what we in the U.S. have commercialized into Halloween trick or treating—families load up on wine, bread, cheese and camp out on their loved one’s graves, singing, reminiscing, and celebrating. All these customs demonstrate that part of life is rehearsing for old age and death, welcoming it with open arms, humor and respect.
Death is a democratic inevitability for every one of us. In my opinion, there’s something worse than death and that is never having fully lived. We can choose to sink into age, denying, resisting, protesting, thus missing the fruits of wholeness. Or we can be liberated to live a full and vibrant life by choosing to grow into age, accepting, letting go, embracing the emptiness with humility.
See you next time
Jeff
I was lucky,when my father died,the hospital called and I ran right over.They had not “prettied” him up. His mouth still slightly open as if he was taking his last breath of life.
I got to speak to him for the longest time.My relationship with my father was much like your relationship with your dad. We never spoke about feelings. Infact during most of my adult life we never spoke about much of anything.As he lay there,I told him of this disappointment and perhaps his disappointment that I was not the son he wanted.
Oh well it was nice the hospital gave me this time,and I had closure.
Judi
I published an article about Cathy Hainer, USA Today reporter, who died of cancer at age 38. http://www.usnewslink.com/CathyHainer.htm
Cathy kept a diary. In her last entry she quoted a parable by Henry Van Dyke:
“I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the morning breeze and starts
for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come
to mingle with each other.
Then, someone at my side says;
“There, she is gone!”
“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull
and spar as she was when she left my side
and she is just as able to bear her
load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone
at my side says, “There, she is gone!”
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad
shout;
“Here she comes!”
And that is dying.”
Sally Blake
Dear Jane,
How interesting… a subject that most people won’t touch with a ten foot pole. I think that some are fearful if you talk about death… that it may jinx you and creep into your life.
Being a retired firefighter the one thing I learned after 26 years is that you never know when the ol punch card is up. You could be running to the 7-11 for a quick something and that could be it.
And what about the unfairness sometimes in death. The loss of a child or the loss of someone doing such good work in life. Those left behind are forever affected.
I so agree that we have to live each day completely but that is easier for some than others. It means different things to different people. And what if they are alone in life due to whatever circumstances.
I felt sorrow that the hospital staff did not let you grieve how you wanted to grieve when you lost your father. I think that may be different now. Thats another tidbit I have learned… every single person grieves differently and how each person grieves is ok.
Thank you for writing about it. Very thought provoking.
Warmest Regards,
Sally Blake (VoiceOnFire.com)
Kim
Jane,
I love how New Orleans celebrates life and death. Many Jazz Funerals are public events announced on the radio and in the newspaper. People come out in droves to celebrate the life of the person and send them off with a bang. The second line parades are amazing.
For the most famous/influencial New Orleans luminaries who have departed, the streets are closed off to allow for the parades and hoardes of people.
It is somthing to see/participate in the Jazz Funeral of a Mardi Gras Indian Chief. All the Mardi Gras Indians come out in full regalia, singing Indian songs and paying homage to their chief.
Even though I’ve moved from New Orleans 9 years ago, my friends still call me from the Jazz Funerals and hold the telephone up so I can be part of it.
Dina @ 4 Lettre Words
This is very interesting, Jane, and I have to agree.
It’s like going through a haunted house. The things that you “expect” scare you, but not nearly as bad as the things that just creep up! :o)
Bless you!
Dina
Bonnie J Preston
Jane, great post. I always considered myself lucky that my mother had “all her affairs in order” long before her actual death. And she made sure to speak to me about it every now and then as I grew up, so it became natural to me, nothing to fear, just another turn in the road. Hard as it was to lose her, I did not have to deal with a “mess”. She’d planned her own memorial, cremation, picked out her urn, chosen the spot for it (I got to select the marker!), and her will breezed in and out or probate without a hitch. That left me free to grieve. Twenty-three years after her passing, I still miss her and think often of her wisdom and how fortunate I was to have her example. My poor husband’s mother would not allow anyone to even mention the word “death”!
My son, a recent gerontology grad, and I are so looking forward to your book. I know it is going to be wonderful.
Regards, Bonnie
Debb
I have been blessed enough to be at many births of babies (of friends and three of my own) and also equally blessed to be a vital part of the passing of three of my parents (parent-in-law). The feelings were much the same for me… birth and death are passages. Birth is the passage in and death the passage out to, I believe, amazing things. The energy in the room is similar, all focused on the person being birthed or passing through death of the body.
And the breath, how very important in each case also is the breath.
Theresa Murphy
Wow, Jane, thank you very much.
Your written words have touched me and helped me today.
Sincerely, Theresa Murphy
Dena
Jane,
I always remember August 12th as the day your father passed. I was a great fan, and admired the strength of character he seemed to possess. Each year, on August 12th, I simply remember that it’s his “anniversary.” I obviously didn’t know him, but he touched something in me that, somehow, made me feel closer to my own father, who shares similar qualities.
I share your thoughts on aging and dying, and even though I hope I’m a long way off (I’m 39), it does help to recognize and embrace our mortality and be prepared to move on with grace and dignity and without fear.
My grandfather died at his home at the age of 85, and I was very very close with him. I arrived at his house several minutes after he’d passed, and I, too, sat with him, held his hand, kissed his face, and waited for the undertaker to come. It was one of the most sobering experiences of my life, and one I wouldn’t trade for anything.
Thanks for sharing today.
Bill
Thank You Jane-
That was so beautifully written. I too have thought about my death for many years now. In fact, I used to think about death as a child; which upset quite a few adults at the time. Death has always facinated me (not in a morbid way)!
I’ve been working on a play adaptation, based on a book about the forty-three young men who died in the county I grew up in, during the Vietnam War. I was a child during that war
and reading and writing about these young men has been an honor and life altering. I have often thought of you as I’ve been writing….knowing your work with veterans at the time and of course your work in “Coming Home”; still one of the most memorable movie going experiences of my life. Well, I should go back to writing now….take care and thanks again.
Angela Easterling
Beautiful and deep. Thanks for sharing.
jane
I came upon your blog quite by accident but wanted to thank you for such a thought provoking piece. I will this weekend mark the one year anniversary of the passing of a dear friend. I had the honour of being present as he died in the home we shared. Unlike your experience I was able to say goodbye and assure him he was not alone as he slipped away from us. At the exact moment of his death our dog who was with a friend in another room barked the way he would when we would pick up our keys to leave the house. I’m convinced he could sense his spirit leaving his body. After his death I was able to spend time with him and felt his spirit hovering over his body. I am truly sorry you did not have that option at the time of your father’s death.
Best wishes,
Jane
Rain
Both of my parents died really without knowing they were facing death but died in ways in which they would have been comfortable had they known. I guess that’s what we hope that we will live old enough to have lived fully and die in a way that leaves us dignity. Our culture doesn’t make that easy. Some is our denial of talking about it, facing it, but some is maybe just us. It’s unfortunate as death is a part of life that we all have to face– whether wisely and consciously or not.
I don’t fear death– right now anyway. I might feel differently if I felt I was closer to it. At almost 66, it seems a ways off, but I feel that when I die, perhaps some questions about life will be answered. That’s an exciting thought. On the other hand, maybe it’ll just be over.
The thought that it might just be over, that when my body dies, so does all of me, that is the strangest thought for me. I don’t think it’s how it is. There used to be more stories of people as they died, when we were a culture closer to death and many of them involved the loved ones who had already died being there to help the dying one across. That’s a cool thought.
Your story of imagining your death reminded me of a dream my husband had a few years ago. He saw our daughter dying but she was a very old woman and beside her was her daughter and then he realized no it was her granddaughter and daughter. He said I was already there and told him to shhh but that she knew we were there. You see we had both come in the spirit to help our daughter cross over. It was a beautiful dream and one that still gives me comfort for what dying might be like.
Mysmichelle
I must admit that the reason I found your blog was because of the post you made on Michael Jackson’s death. It interested me so much about the rehearsing your death and then I started reading your other posts.
What a wonderful life you have and what a great post about life and death. My parents both died in accidents when I was very young. I have always believed this:
“Death is a democratic inevitability for every one of us. In my opinion, there’s something worse than death and that is never having fully lived.”
Thank you for sharing!!!
mike
Thank-you that beautifully thoughtful way of saying what my heart is feeling.
I was too young when my father died at 47 to be anything but confused and distraught. 5 years ago my mother died. I had been practicing Buddhist meditation and opening to the reality of death since the late 70’s. While my heart still was deeply saddened, I was able to be open, present and full of love at the time of death.
Thanks again for your contribution to the conversation…
earthkeeper
Dearest Jane,
You’ve been on some beautiful adventures!
Enlightenment rules!!!
The words you shared with us about death could not have been more PERFECT. I am in awe!!!
Jane you are FULL of light!!!
I so agree with your words. It is my intention to live and share these beautiful words with others. With blessings we will live our lives in such a way that everyday will be a good day to die.
namaste,
earthkeeper
P.S. Also loved the parable by
Henry Van Dyke. More words to pass along…….
Dominique Perrin
De Michel de Montaigne on pourra méditer sur de nombreuses pensées, comme: “Pourquoi vouloir comprendre la mort? Elle ne nous concerne pas quand on est vivant, et quand on est mort, on ne se pose plus cette question. Il n’y a que les vivants qui ont besoin de nos larmes.”
Ou encore: “La vieillesse nous attache plus de rides en l’esprit qu’au visage. ”
“L’homme est malmené non pas tant par les événements que, surtout, par ce qu’il pense des événements.”
Chère Jane, merci de citer l’un de nos plus grands philosophes et humanistes. J’espère que cela incitera de nombreuses personnes à lire ou relire les célèbres “Essais” de Montaigne
.Et déjà sur le web: http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Author:Michel_de_Montaigne
Debbie
Hi Jane, you are truly an amazing lady. Thank you for sharing your thoughts on death. Being something of a drama queen through most of my life, I rather thought I’d go somewhat like Camille, with a rose between my teeth, reclining on a chaise lounge — with an elegant satin hostess gown — and on and on! In reality, and now that I’m middle age (65) I’d like to die with some sense of dignity. We do this for animals, why can’t we do the same for ourselves. Hugs to you, dear friend (and you do feel like that to me, a dear friend).
Margarida
I hope you don’t mind my posting this here, but tomorrow would have been my sister’s 50th birthday (she passed away aged 47, leaving behind 3 wonderful children, aged 14 to 25). We were very close, telepathically so – she was only 19 months older than me. This is the poem (by Henry Scott-Holland) that the priest read at her funeral (in French as she died in Marseille), and whilst it is not exactly about what you’ve written above, it has to do with death and how we should remember the dead. I’m inlcuding the original English version too, though I actually prefer the French version as it is a more concise,less flowery one.
L’amour ne disparaît jamais !
L’amour ne disparaît jamais !
La mort n’est rien.
Je suis seulement passé dans la pièce à côté.
Je suis moi, tu es toi.
Ce que nous étions l’un pour l’autre, nous le sommes toujours.
Donne-moi le nom que tu m’as toujours donné.
Parle-moi comme tu l’as toujours fait.
N’emploie pas un ton différent.
Ne prends pas un air solennel ou triste.
Continue à rire de ce qui nous faisait rire ensemble.
Prie, souris, pense à moi, prie pour moi.
Que mon nom soit prononcé à la maison comme il l’a toujours été, sans emphase d’aucune sorte, sans une trace d’ombre.
La vie signifie tout ce qu’elle a toujours signifié.
Elle est ce qu’elle a toujours été.
Le fil n’est pas coupé.
Pourquoi serais-je hors de ta pensée, simplement parce que je suis hors de ta vue ?
Je t’attends, je ne suis pas loin, juste de l’autre coté du chemin.
Tu vois, tout est bien.
Henry Scott-Holland
Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other
That we are still
Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way you always used
Put no difference into your tone
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes we always enjoyed together
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was
Let it be spoken without effort
Without the ghost of a shadow in it
Life means all that it ever meant
It is the same as it ever was
There is absolute unbroken continuity
What is death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind
Because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you for an interval
Somewhere very near
Just around the corner
All is well.
Nothing is past; nothing is lost
One brief moment and all will be as it was before
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
Canon Henry Scott-Holland, 1847-1918, Canon of St Paul’s Cathedral
Jay
Wow….thank you
pam
Not very many people get to choose how they want to die once they enter a hospital setting or long term care facility. I have seen the misery over and over again with parents and friends. And on top of the misery is the incredible expense. Perhaps the expense is in part due to the denial you have addressed.
Susan K.
Everything you said was beautifully written and from your heart, Jane. Thank you for sharing your inner most thoughts and concerns about different issues. It’s often hard to find people in our daily lives who are open with their thoughts sometimes, so it’s refreshing for me to go to your blog to see what insight you might share. I think that was sad that they wouldn’t let you sit in the room with your dad after he died. Maybe hospitals are more open-minded now, I think. My sister-in-law missed her dad’s death by a few minutes just like you a few years ago, and they did let her have some time alone with her dad. We had a family tragedy a few years ago. My husband’s 27 year old neice was killed in a car accident on her way home from school. It made me more aware of how one’s day-to-day living is so important. Each day is important! No one is guaranteed they will see their loved ones again when they hug them good-bye after a visit. So, it made me more aware to savor the time spent with people I care about and love. We all take for granted that there will always be a tomorrow….but that’s not always the way it goes. I love the way the people in Mexico celebrate the dead. There’s an old cemetery in Atlanta, and when I took a tour of it, we were told it was customary many years ago for families to visit the graves of loved ones often, and sometimes they would have picnics there by the grave! I love that idea! I wonder why that tradition stopped? We don’t know how we will die, but we can try to make the most of every day we have on this earth….each day is a gift!
Nirmala Heriza
As a meditator, I’m not really afraid of my own death. Since, in meditation, we go into such a subtle and expanded state of consciousness, I almost feel as though I die each time I do it. The idea of your death, on the otherhand, is impossible for me consider. Or think about.
kelly
Thank you for sharing.
Vickie Pynchon
My own favorite poem about death – so HOPEFUL!! When Death Comes by Mary Oliver.
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
Btw, you spoke at my law school graduation in 1980 – sooooooo many years ago. I’ll always remember it fondly.
D. Henry
I wrote something and then it disappeared so I will try again. Hope I’m not redundant.
I was given a death sentance at 22 when it was discovered that I had cancer. At that moment I was filled with a white hot awareness that everything is filled with life. That the world is teeming with magic and beauty and I had spent much of my time in some gray space. I was dieing and never more alive! Each morning I would wake with gratitude and joy at the gift that had just been given me. Moments and moments are filled with light and I have the capacity to choose to reach out to them. My lesson, my gift, live as though there is no time left and the time becomes full and rich and wonderful. There are times when I let go of this revelation but I have only to remind my self that I am dieing and the beauty jumps to my heart and I am felled with gratitude. I’m now 66 and the wonder of this discouvery carries me through so many storms. Life has become a walking meditation filled with joy and beauty and love.
Thank you Jane for your wonderful cander and your fearless honesty. It is a gift.
Most sincerely, Deanne
Deanna
Dearest Ms. Fonda,
I am so very sorry that you were not allowed to mourn in your Father’s room with his body still present just minutes after He died. I don’t know if you ever were allowed to simply sit by his side and embrace what just happened.
Tis true, we don’t always know the exact moment of our death. A cousin of mine was crushed to death by a truck that crashed through the wall of the building she worked in. Young, vibrant she was. I believe that if we are aware that death is a part of this earthly life then we need to be prepared that death may come at any time. We spend eternity somewhere. When people are created, we all have spirits, so we are spiritual beings that are eternal.
Earthly life is like a vapor, just like the Bible says.
Deanna
Kelsey
Personally, I was always taught by my grandmother to NEVER be afraid of dying. I never have been either. I tell my family all the time, that if something were to happen to me I would want them to know I’m not afraid and that in fact I am ready. I’m not saying at all that I want to die now. I strongly believe that when its your time, its your time. Theres no stopping it. When someone dies, I know that God wanted them and God makes no mistakes. We, the family/friends left behind may not agree or fully understand why, but I tell myself they are free and are expieriencing something we will all get to experience some day. I don’t think rehearsing for your death is a crazy thing. I think its helpful and it won’t come as a shock. I know it will be a peaceful thing in the end no matter what, and sooner or later, its going to happen.
Millie
My mother prepared me for her death; all through high school she would say that she wasn’t sure she’d live through the year (even though healthy!) She lived to be 93 years old; just before my grandmother passed, she saw it in a dream!
bess
Recently I started receiving your blogs as I am a friend of Roshi Joan Halifax and Upaya. I was there in 2001. Last year I read Roshi Joan’s book on dying and it was extremely helpful as I was nursing my partner at the time between various operations. It helped me get out of my ego around death and be there for him in a much more profound way. Today he is healthy and happy and just took art up yesterday.
I have already written to you to tell you how much I enjoyed your book too and thank you. It is so useful that we can share this way now.
Much gratitude and blessings, Bess
Karen
Wow, I’m stunned by the insensitivity of that hospital’s personnel. Love this post.
jill
Having just lost my own father unexpectedly 4 weeks ago, I was especially consoled by this beautiful posting today. I’m always touched at how quickly children move on. Grieving but then back to the joy of living. My own teach me to be joyful daily! That beautiful sail poem comment posted below is also so moving and helpful to me at this time! I am sad for you that the hospital rushed you along in your goodbyes to your father. I was the first to arrive early the morning my Dad died but he had already gone as the huge code blue team was trying to revive him, and was still in shock as he lie lifeless in bed. The nurses allowed time for the entire family to arrive for over an hour and continually said “take whatever time you need” as they allowed us our privacy. It was the first time I have faced death so fully, from a visit the previous day visiting with him to now him lieing there, gone, lifeless. But we have felt his presence now and I believe they become our guardian angels upon passing. Your father watching over you in 33 variations with great pride and love. The author and now hospice volunteer and spiritualist Dannion Brinkley said it best upon my Dad’s passing “Sorry for your loss, happy for your Dad’s gain” as I feel where we go next is even greater chapter, or act then then here and that’s saying something! Life is filled with miracles everyday. The author Leo Busgalia says “Life is banquet and most people are starving to death” And it is perhaps your most beautiful trait- why you are hero to many, age hasn’t slowed you down and you are living life to its fullest.
susan callaway
merging with the one as a way of life prepares us for all. the beauty within is truly magical.
floralartist
Having been a care giver for my mom for 4 years I understand what you are saying and I agree with your opinion.
I feel my mom did not live her life to the fullest and therefore fought death even with very bad health.
When I see tragic events where people die unexpectedly and violent I realize we can go in the blink of an eye no matter how well we have lived our life. Death will be just another adventure.
Jason
Hi Jane,
Thanks for your blog today. I am petrified of death (because I live life to the fullest) and had a conversation last night with my visiting parents. My father’s not worried about dying, my mother’s petrified, like me. The conversation came about because my French teacher, in her early sixties and full of good health and of cheery nature, just recently dropped dead in the middle of her class. Great way to go for her (albeit way too young!) but terrible for her family. I cannot come to terms with not existing. But I try to remind myself of the old Mark Twain saying which goes something like “I was dead billions of years before I was born, and it never bothered me in the slightest”.
Anyway, it’s because I live life really to the fullest that I cannot believe I’ll be anywhere else other than here. Isn’t that strange?
Best regards from Germany
Jason
Andrea
Jane, I loved this blog. I have 39 years and when I think of what will be my death, I hope to see you come all ready to leave, to donate my books, my cd. If I could choose, I would find her doing what I like best: running on the river bank. For my part I planned that my ashes be thrown into the river on whose banks I raced and I’m running both. If then my legs do not allow me to run, we would stand watching the water and feeling the sand on my feet. From Uruguay with love.
Jay
Jane you likely are aware of these authors but may I suggest that if you’re not, you seek out the authors; Ruth Montgomery & Neville [Goddard].
Particularly; Montgomery’s – A World Beyond & Neville’s – Resurrection & The Power of Awareness.
As I follow your blog and while I was reading your 1st book I wondered if you are familiar with Ellen Burstyn and her powerful, moving and most enlightening book; Lessons in Becoming Myself. I had read it just before yours and it seems she has been aware her entire life that there is something not of this world that is her real purpose in life and her devotion to Sufism and your mentions of it have made me wonder.
If everyone read A World Beyond, they would realize not only that none of us dies, our bodies wear out but our souls & our spirit live on and our individual soul is more available to everyone closer and more with us than they were while in physical life just as your father sat with you long after you were made to feel he was gone.
He was not just with you as a memory of things past, he was alive and aware of everything as it was and is happening.
Young again, free of the old body and the physical ailments that clouded that mind that had always been so sharp.
In fact at that time he was more aware and sharper without any of the clouds of humanity to create it’s fog of human life over the greater consciousness as he had never been in life. Something you had never known, all seeing, all loving and free of ego & human bias.
He still is. You have had him hear and see you the way you always felt he didn’t.
There is a reason why we begin to sense things about our parents or elders who affected us greatly when we were young and ignorant no matter how wrong or awful they treated us. Why we begin to wonder what was going on inside of them when we thought they were merely mean or unloving.
From your first book I see you obviously have long been of a mind to look for those aspects of life and so you have a head start on many but because you’re in the position you are, to have your fans and followers, one could say you have a responsibility to help the rest learn or open their minds. Of course only you can say or accept what is your responsibility but no truly enlightened souls chafe at the thought. I doubt you do.
Please read Montgomery and Neville. If everyone would there would be nothing in this world but love, and no excuses. We would all realize that we have created this life we’re living with a purpose & with a mutual agreement to play certain roles in tune with the souls of those who will be part of touch or be touched in or by our life this time…and in the next.
Bless you and your loved ones and one request…please try to do as you did with your workouts phase of life.
Find the ways to rejuvenate and reinvent yourself so you do live with all your faculties another thirty years at least! Once again change the way we look at the calendar of life. You were the pioneer of that once. You have far more tools if not time to do it again.
-JT
Joan Mumford
May I strongly recommend that you take a look at the blog happinessinthisworld.com? Authored by Alex Lichterman, it is subtitled Reflections by a Buddhist Physician.
The current posting “Only Three Ways to Die” was so compelling, I shared my own current situation with my near-death mother. Other first person stories bear out how ill-prepared we seem to be both individually and as a society to manage death AND survivorship, although some people relate genuine resolution that has provided immense relief of grief and guilt.
I applaud your enlightened embrace of death which is, after all, every bit as much a part of life as is birth.
SHARONANN
As a hospital social worker I have experienced many death situations in the emergency room, burn unit, intensive care units, oncology, etc.
One seems to relate to death according their experiences throughout their lifetime–deaths of friends, parents, siblings, relatives; their religious beliefs; their own ability to face life without that person. We use those experiences to help us understand and guide us in what to do next—what to do or not do.
There doesn’t seem to be a right or wrong way to face death. Some people absolutely refuse to look at their loved one at death. They only want a memory in their mind of their loved one being full of life.
There are families who create memories by surrounding their loved one with singing and praying as the final breath is taken.
Or a 5 year old stretching his arms straight up and smiling at “someone” before he takes his final breath.
Some people in the room may actually see angels and others in the same room won’t see them.
And, some people die without anyone really caring if they die. They didn’t seem to make an impact on anyone.
And if there has been an accident, the family may not recognize the person who has died and will be in denial.
I agree with you, Jane, about making an impact on others so that someone will miss you when you die. My father was “excited” about dying at 88 years old because of his faith and the life experiences he and his family had (before penicillin, death was a common experience for all ages). I hope his death was as wonderful as he anticipated it to be.
Vicki Lowell
When Elvis died on August 16, 1977 I asked my father if he was as shocked as I was at his passing at the young age of 42. He replied, “Certainly NOT!” He then went on to say that people can die at any age, at any time. Less than a month later (at age 65), on September 12, 1977, my father was gunned down by a fellow employee at the drug store he worked at in Los Angeles. I never got to see his body, or even the gruesome pictures taken of him for the subsequent murder trial (because of the multiple gunshot wounds to his face), but oddly enough my father had prepared me for his death by his comment to me about the death of Elvis.
Thank you, Miss Fonda, for bringing up the subject that is not discussed enough. You are right that none of us knows what kind of death we will have. But we can each prepare for and be ready for it when it comes.
tomas
well put jane. i tried to convey the same message to troy the week MJ died, also the same time a personal friend died also. So I sent troy a happy birthday email saying the same thing,I shortend it a bit by saying when we go leave nothing on the table but thats exactley what I expierinced.
Joan Jelinek
Beautifully said.
I’ve printed it and plan to read it frequently.
Thanks, Jane.
Nancy
Dear Ms. Fonda:
Ever since your appearance on “The View”, I’ve been reading your blog. Why, I’m not sure, as I always thought my life to be the polar opposite of yours. Afterall, I’m nothing more than the average middle aged “Jane” living in the midwest and worried about paying the bills, getting through the day and going home to a family that I love and adore. I really never think about growing old and the future.
Now that I am really thinking about why I read this blog, I think at first, I was facinated by the process you were describing when you were in New York. Then it became the curiosity and glitter of which celebrity was seeing the play that night and your association with that celebrity. Then it became the transition from your working non-stop to a life that was a little less “on stage”, where you could be yourself and not have to perform and how you were handling that.
But, today’s post is different. I’ve read through it several times and frankly it has left me drained (in a good way), at a loss for words (in a good way), deep in thought and finally, peaceful. I’ve never been touched the way this piece of writing has touched me. You have taught me something … put into words something that I always instinctually knew, but never knew how to express and expressed something that I will never forget.
Thank you, Ms. Fonda, for sharing your time, thoughts and feelings with this plain “Jane” from the midwest. You’ve touched me in a way that comes as a complete and delightful surprise today.
Rosemary Gibbons
I was with my mother when she passed away at age 59. Before she left, she started calling out the names of her bestfriends who had gone on before her. It gave me such peace to know that her spirit would be joining them.
I’ve missed her and longed for her ever since because it seemed there was still unfinished business….things I wanted to say and do for her. But it has made me realize the importance of being the most loving person I can be and communicating in the now, so that others, especially my children will have no regrets when I leave them. Here in Malawi, death is definitely a part of life where so many die every day….I’m learning from the culture about how to grieve, respect the one passsed and be there for the ones left. Your ideas on death are profound and full of wisdom. Thank you for sharing.
Mary Jane Stone
That Mexican reflection puts me in mind of Frida Kahlo. Have you seen the painting of hers that is my favorite? It is, I believe, one of her few commissioned portraits, and depicts Luther Burbank as a tree. Below the roots of the Luther Tree is his prone, deceased body. It can be interpreted as his remains nourishing a single tree that symbolizes his contribution to botany. Sure enough the corpse is there, but so is the legacy. Kahlo often depicted symbols of death, the Day of the Dead, and other such things. I believe that she may have ‘rehearsed’ hers, which came all too early. Love your blog and hope that mine will be up and running soon so that you and others can connect with Florida’s immigrant history.
Chris
I want to live a long and vibrant life, do to the fullest whatever I love to do, but, like you Jane, I do NOT fear death.
Rather, I embrace it. It’s the end of the tough bootcamp called life.
It’s life at a higher plain.
It’s nothing to fear and I can’t wait to see all my loved ones and the people I admired but never got to see when I go Home.
Bill Hillman
Jane, once more, a very eye-opening blog. You’ve said it so beautifully. I think if everyone could talk about death this way, there would be a lot less fear.
Bill
Maria
Jane,
Thank you for this post. My husband and I are currently caring for my 95-year-old mother-in-law, Mary. We live in her home with her, along with our delightful 6-year-old son, who casts his sunlight on all of us.
Mary isn’t interested in talking about dying or doing it. As my own mother says, “She may throw dirt on us.” Mary’s mind is good, but her body is failing. As someone who is a congenital wimp, I appreciate her grit, even as I am sometimes exasperated by her inability to acknowledge that she will one day, sooner than later, die. Her perseverence has served her well through life, even though in some ways it makes this last chapter more difficult.
I am trying to focus on the lessons that I am to learn from this experience. So far I have figured out that–stop the presses– 1)I don’t know everything; 2)even when I’m pretty sure I’m right, other people won’t necessarily agree with me and no amount of talking will convince them 3)what I have control over is my own behaviors and attitudes.
In some ways, though, Mary does mirror your philosophy. She has acted very lovingly through her life and now reaps love from her family and friends. This is a frustrating and scary stage of life for her, but she has no doubt about our love for her.
Participating in this experience of her last years has been a great teacher. Like you, I want to learn the lessons surrounding the mystery of death.
Thanks for your thoughtful, insightful post.
Maria
P.S. We are all believers (Catholics) in a an afterlife, which, for me, makes thinking about death more palatable. When people talk about religion being a crutch, I want to say, “Oh, no. It’s not a crutch. It’s life support.”
Matthew DeCoster
Whoops Mr. Andrews, this should go here.
I read every day and have restrained from commenting more frequently. However today’s topic also resonates with younger gay men in their mid second act. Men who are now the first gays in a generation to envision a future. Men who saw men, the age we are now, walking with canes. Men who didn’t watch football but saw The China Syndrome, Julia and Fun with Dick and Jane. Not men….I followed the Academy Awards instead of sports stats and saw you speak at Peace Sunday when I was in high school. 33 Variations was transcendentally wonderful and resonated deeply.
I still hope to find the original picture of you and Harvey. So wonderful Obama awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom yesterday. Glad you’re having fun with the tech guy. You all deserve New Mexico magic.
Most Sincerely,
Matthew DeCoster
Nirmala Heriza
Dear Jane
In follow up to my last comment on this blog subject, which is clearly extremely potent and eliciting profound response, as a medical and Spiritual practitioner and teacher I want to say that at first I found the notion of “rehearsing for death” almost like creating a predisposition to it. And somewhat irresponsible. And I will admit, because you’ve been a kind of mentor and role model of mine since I was a teenager, your incredibly open confrontation on the subject of your own death, caused me to have a kneejerk resistence.
I’m, aware that, like me, you’re a meditater and Spiritual practitioner. As a Spiritual practitioner we’re taught to embrace and support life. Not to focus on death. I’m also a medical practitioner, and as such, for years, I’ve worked with patients who have been at the nexus of death. Who have received 6 week death sentences from their physicians, only to recover upon pursuing an alternative path. Whenever I would talk to my Spiritual Guru about one of my patients who had been given such a ultimatum, he would always say, there is always hope, tell them to never give up. Even up until to the last breath. Find other options. Don’t think about dying. If God wants to take the life, he’ll take it.
An example of this is my friend, a producing partner of Marlo Thomas who was diagnosed with breast cancer that metasticized into a malignant brain tumor. She was told by several doctors she had 6 weeks to live. Until she found one who put her on an Integrative medical protocol. Today she’s in complete remission and lives a healthy active life. Some of my patients, who have sought and listened to the medical options, like her, have survived. While others, who didn’t listen, have not. I once treated a cancer patient, the mother of a child actress, who was showing encouraging signs of recovery, until, because of her renewed strength, which can be deceptive, she interrupted her therapy, exerted herself on a publicity junket, and died.
Since my last reponse to this subject, I’ve continued to give your approach to the death process comprehensive thought. It’s such an enormous subject, and involves so many variables. Like you have said, It involves not only our own passing, but the attatchment to and the loss of our loved ones. Again, as a medical practitioner, I have found the most difficult task is helping the family prepare, accept and deal with the loss of their loved one.. Particularily the children. In my experience, its the children who are most capable of holding onto faith and hope until the very end.
Clearly, as I understand it, you’re not saying to give up on living, no matter the circumstance or diagnosis. You’re talking about making peace with, being prepared for that ultimate moment when it comes. Until then, support your life force in every way possible. With every option, for as long as you can. In health and in the event of illness.
I think that tackling this subject is incredibly courageous of you. It’s like opening pandora’s box. With your stature and legend, you have such profound influence and sway. So many people listen to, respect and assimilate your opinion. In many ways, you’re like a roadmap. I found that it took me a lot of courage to even weigh in with you about it. It has brought up a lot of my own vulnerability. Thank you for continuing to be such a pioneer.
With love
Nirmala