A good friend recently lost her father, and she shared a beautiful, poignant account of his final weeks.
He’d gone in for a checkup after some discomfort. The doctors found stage four cancer, already in the bone. A few days, maybe a few weeks if he was lucky. He asked one question: how sure are you?
Very sure, they said. In that case, he told them, no treatment. His daughter had some good bottles of wine. He’d rather spend his time enjoying those.
Then the doctors mentioned one option that might buy him a few extra weeks or months. He asked if he’d still be able to travel, to make it back to his hometown unassisted. Possibly, they said. He said he’d try it.
A couple of days in, he called his kids together and told them it wasn’t working. And instead of dwelling on that, he spent the time helping them sort out the logistics that would carry them through the months after he was gone.
Next, he said his goodbyes to them the next day. To his nineteen-year-old grandson, he said that when he looked back on his life, what he remembered most fondly were his adventures, the ones that worked and the ones that didn’t. He told him to make it a priority to have as many as he could.
Then he went to sleep, and his organs shut down one by one. As he loved science, my friend read to him about the miracle of engineering that is the human body. As she read to him, she saw it slowly diverting all energy from failing organ to the brain and finally the heart.
He passed the next day.
His grandson said it reminded him of the ending of the tale of the three brothers in the Harry Potter books.
And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.” — The Tale of the Three Brothers
The youngest brother, after a long and full life, finally takes off his cloak of invisibility, passes it to his son, and greets Death as an old friend, going with him gladly, as an equal.
Indeed.
A Learning a Day 