Breath of Death

Often, when writing, I seek inspiration. I can go for weeks or even months without writing a single word, because inspiration, for me at least, is extremely elusive.

Inspiration comes and goes and it feels entirely out of my control.

There are so many things in this world that are out of my control. One of those things is Death. That's certainly not an epiphany, any 10 year old can tell you that (under normal circumstances) no one knows when they will die or how they will die. However, we are always shocked by Death, whether we are expecting it or not.

At 102 years old you, and those who surround you and love you, are almost expecting it daily but when it finally hits someone close to you, the pain can become unbearable. This is exacerbated when you are actually present for the last breath, what I refer to as the "Breath of Death".

I held someones hand, someone whom I loved, respected and admired, someone who is, was, 102. Yes, 102. I don't know many people who can say they have met a 102 year old, let alone hold their hand when they take their Breath of Death. Regardless of age, illness or circumstance, there is a deep immense pain that consumes you when someone close to you takes their Breath of Death.

I think, for the most part the pain is defined by the void that they create in our life upon departure. For a child losing their parents, that insoluble void that is created when the parent is no longer 'here'. That's the general pain that I think people focus on or are troubled by when the Breath of Death is taken by their loved one.

However, there is another form of pain that often may go overlooked and I don't believe it to be much different from the void that is left, albeit it may exist for a shorter period of time. Its immensity seldom strays far from the pain that is created by the void. This pain I can only refer to as the pain of The Helpless.

You look down at the person and you say to yourself "wait! stop! I can do more! this isn't meant to happen!" but alas, it is. It's one of those things that, in most cases, is simply out of our control. You see the Breath of Death, you actually see it. All logic, reasoning and commonsense depart from your entire being. "THIS ISNT MEANT TO HAPPEN!" you scream in your own head, a scream that would have shattered windows had it been allowed to be heard. You think to yourself that obviously your loved one should live forever. Logic comes in and argues, "come on, she was 102!" and you argue back, "but this was wrong, we could have done more" and eventually you find yourself in an internal battle of logic with someone who you can't even see. Your inner voice screams again, "wait! stop! I know you can hear me! Why aren't you getting up and responding!?!" And like clockwork, that little, quiet almost silent voice of logic, which can barely be heard whispers out to the large and immense screaming voice and says "you know the answer to this, you know you do, its because... because she's.... dead"

Michael A Singer touches on this "inner voice" in his book The Untethered Soul. It's a form of awareness, the understanding who you are and who you are arguing with. You're arguing with your awareness. Awareness of your loss. Awareness of your love. Awareness of the void. Awareness of simply being aware that the person laying in front of you was crying out 30 seconds earlier in pain and you wanted to reach out and take that pain away, but sadly, you aren't a doctor, you aren't a surgeon and you arent God. You're just you.

Then there is another stage. I don't know if everyone experiences this or even if anyone, apart from me, experiences this, but for me this stage is the "question mark". You question, what was she thinking during her Breath of Death? Could she hear me? Did she know I was there? Was she scared? Was she aware that she was dying?

The question almost consumes you. You visualize the Breath of Death and those nagging painful questions persist. They constantly badger you and then, after all is said and done, you are left with nothing.

No one can answer those questions, some will try, some will pretend to know. Doctors, Friends, Family, they will all pretend that they know - but how can they? The experience isn't theirs to claim as their own. They can't know because the only time they will know is when they take their own Breath of Death.

If we take a step back and try to look at our "question marks" and answer them truthfully, we may be able to say something like: "Was she scared?" - yes, she most likely was petrified. But then, with that question in mind, we can look at the individual who is taking their Breath of Death and challenge the questions even further. If she was scared, how would she have dealt with it? Its from that place that we can find inspiration.

She was petrified, she also probably knew we were there unable to help her, but this 102 year old, would have taken it in her stride. She would have inspired us and told us how to be strong. The personality and the character of the person taking the Breathe of Death is what gives us the answers to those questions.

As I write this, I recall a truck that drove past me this morning on the opposite side of the road. On that truck was plastered the infamous words from psalms. הזורעים בדמעה, ברינה יקצורו. "They that sow in tears will reap in joy". The English translation doesn't do justice to those powerful words. Read it again, with a slight pause. הזורעים בדמעה - ברינה יקצורו. Those "tears" and the "joy" that comes after, is what assists us in answering the questions above.

Think of it this way, when our loved one was "sowing in tears" during their lives, how would she or he rejoice when reaping? Or more so, how would they handle the "tears" throughout their metaphorical sowing.

I believe that once you are able to answer that question you are then able to answer many of our above "question marks".

For example, "What was she thinking whilst she was taking her Breath of Death"? Well, I hope she thought to herself "ok, I'm dying and I'm going to handle this with the same might that I handled the burial of my eldest child". When she experienced hardships she would embrace them, stand up strong and proud, accept the circumstances with a grumble but relish in the presence of those who surround her and love her. She would just "deal with it" and power ahead.

I write this and tears stream down my face thinking of our loved one, our 102 year old loved one. The memory of looking down at her gasping for just one more breath, one more inch of life, to stay one moment longer. The memory of her soul leaving her, departing from the body and mind that we loved so dearly and hoping that ברינה יקצורו, that she is now rejoicing in what she sowed.

I am humbled and inspired by her strength throughout her life and now, with what I have written above, I am able to be inspired by her death as well - or at least by how she would have handled her Breathe of Death.