Living with Mortality

HILR is again in session. We are eager to see old friends and resume our intellectual pursuits. We look for news on the bulletin board. Several notices are headed In Memoriam. There are also eulogies in The HILR Connection (our periodic newsletter). Our eagerness to return is tempered with the sobering awareness that several members died during the summer. Some people appear frailer than we remember. We are faced again and again with the realization that mortality is very much a part of our lives.

With or without these reminders, it is clear that death is on many members’ minds. Informally, we talk to each other about wills, health proxies, and ethical wills. We’ve each already lived most of our lives, and we express our concerns about mortality as a continuous struggle, one which can never be finally resolved.

During the last quarter century, the subject of death and dying had a prominent place in academia, medical ethics, and the popular media. We are familiar with this literature. Still, it is one thing to read about mortality, but quite another to write about our own feelings and fears, and then discuss our writings together. Not only did some of us write about death and dying in these essays, but four of us led study groups on aging in which the topic could not be ignored. We also interviewed several people for this publication because they were too ill to write.

As described in “The Culture of Aging,” the conversations about aging that began several years ago started a new phase at HILR. Aging studies are now very much part of the curriculum and the interest in our New Pathways project illustrates this change of consciousness. Learning to talk about mortality is our next challenge; it has been one of the most difficult aspects of our work together.

We began hesitantly and slowly, in small writing groups helping each other articulate and clarify these needs. We are learning to find the courage to recognize that the peaceful acceptance of death may be only momentary and, more often, is a continuing struggle. The following comments highlight these concerns: “I have become more interested in mortality in the last few months as I have some problems with my body.” “There is a different sense of possibility when you know that you are going to be confined by time.” “I only have so much time to do the things I want to.” “I am depressed by the reality that there are limits.”

It is difficult even to formulate the questions and consider conclusions. Here we are at the later stages of life, feeling rejuvenated, energized, and excited; we are on a new journey. Age is not a barometer of how we feel, and secretly we hope that death is a long way off even though we know that is not realistic.

Life can be fragile at any age: a sudden illness, a random accident, a plane crash, a hit and run driver. For some of us the fragility of life feels more acute as we get older. We come back again and again to the need to find some ways to talk about mortality and come to terms with this reality. These years are an unexpected bonus, which makes it even more difficult. Where do we go, knowing that life has an ending but is a mystery that is almost impossible to solve? As Maurice Stein wrote:

… Both retiring and dying are great mysteries, and we pretend they aren’t. But they are and we’re not going to solve them with study groups, or with anything that’s cognitively assembled.

Some of us talk about our grandchildren and how we enjoy seeing them grow. What will they do with their lives, whom will they marry? We wish we could be around to see how it all turns out. There is a growing awareness among some of us that there might be unfinished business that needs attention. Some people procrastinate about attending to wills, health proxies, and other legal items. Others have more emotional challenges in resolving conflicts with children or siblings.

The need to prepare our children for our deaths came up in several essays. We talk about different possibilities, and the idea that seems most loving is to simply talk about dying in relation to what they mean to us and what we hope we mean to them. However, these are difficult conversations for many of us to initiate:

Dying is the biggest loss. The losses that happen as we age—the ravages of illness, losing our homes, friends, our professional work our mental and physical abilities fading—perhaps these losses enable us to prepare ourselves. But I don’t think I’ve done a good enough job, preparing my children for my death. (Pat Ruopp)

People often fear suffering more than death itself: “I’m not afraid of dying as much as I am of the illness and pain that will lead me there,” is an often-shared remark. The fact that death is often unpredictable and sometimes random also causes anxiety.

Some prolong life even though they are seriously ill. They come back after bouts with cancer that a decade ago would have meant certain, if not immediate, death. As a group we witness these medical triumphs. Patricia Anne Hogan, ill for over twenty years, had a recurrence of cancer. Her interest in Irish poetry and literature evolved after her retirement, and she feels it is a gift to have the time to “lead and learn” about this new passion. As she struggled with the effects of her long-time illness this past summer, she wrote:

I have great faith that I am being taken care of; the surety that God works through people. I never get totally lonely. I do feel down, but then I realize that I am not alone, and feel very comforted. I am not afraid of dying.

Members must also face the deaths of family members and friends, people who were with us during a major part of our lives. These are people who came to our children’s weddings, people we vacationed with, and people we knew from childhood. For some people the death of a spouse is as difficult as contemplating one’s own death. Sometimes the death of a spouse impresses us with the resiliency of the remaining partner. Life does go on.

On December 8, we learned of Dan’s imminent mortality and that I had been accepted at HILR. (Dan had been a member of HILR for many years.) The day I applied to HILR I resigned from my academic position. I wanted to be as close to Dan as possible. (Prudence King)

Mortality poses a dilemma for organizations with older populations. How should we handle serious illness and impending death? Should we accept that dying and illness are just another stage in the life cycle and are best treated simply when life is over? Or should we try and identify a more systematic and, perhaps, compassionate way to communicate about a crisis to the entire population? I recently learned that someone at HILR had been seriously ill. I only found out about it by accident, and would have visited her and offered support if only I had known.

Attention provides solace and support for the individual who is ill and for the family of the deceased member. This support is particularly important when a member’s spouse or other family member is ill or has died. Often however, the members simply do not know about it. And, sometimes, the death occurs when the organization is not in session.

Our essays demonstrate that institutional support is very helpful and that conversations regarding death and dying need to be given more attention. Yet, as we write this, we are unsure of the kind of attention that would be most helpful. Is it just a communication issue? Is more support needed and if so what kind and for whom? What is the right balance between these two responses? There is also a privacy issue; some members prefer not to have a crisis reported to the entire membership.

There are several practices already in place including the In Memoriam announcement on the bulletin board and the article in The HILR Connection. This memorial article is written by another member who has known or worked with that individual in some capacity or by the director. Often, the family of the deceased holds a memorial service to which there is an open invitation.

Individually and institutionally, however, we are uncertain about additional practices, if any. We haven’t, as yet, found ways to have open conversations about the many issues related to mortality and serious illness. We do not suggest we have the answers. Perhaps this volume can help further the discussion.

Although most of us acknowledge that “death is on my mind,” reactions to mortality range from denial to occasional reflection to acceptance. A member of one of our study groups said he never thinks about death. A contrasting statement follows:

Even though I am not at all religious, the thought of death does not fill me with fear. I don’t know why. Perhaps all the major losses in my life, starting at a young age, have made me calm about facing death. I never expected to live so long. Every year is a gift, an unexpected one. (Elenore Freedman)

Bob Stein, a member and friend who died in 2005, wrote to several of us from the hospital. His cancer returned after a long remission and it was quite clear to him and everyone else that his life was limited. His letter helped us understand how some people come to terms with their own death:

I cannot imagine what the aging challenge is for me. Clearly dealing with limited life and having a notion of what I’d like to achieve, still leaving some kind of legacy and trying to move on. I have to accept realities regarding memory, energy, and resilience. And I still have attachment to the idea of a soul and faith.

Finally, our goal is not to let the struggle with the nearness of death negate the joys of everyday life and the ability to take advantage of every moment. Some days are easier than others and HILR helps us by engaging our intellectual interests and creativity. We wish to escape the fear of time, enjoy each day and, at the same time, endure the losses in the most productive way possible. We try as best we can to fully enjoy our talents, interests, friends, and families.

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