Past tense

Found my notes from a discussion held at my zen center last summer.  The theme was "what emerges and how do we support each other when a sangha member is suffering or dies?"  I started the conversation, allowing that it could be thought of in terms of other communities with which we feel connected.  Three specific questions were raised for discussion - they are below along with what I had prepared to start the conversation, including a poem by Marie Howe.  I recall that the group was engaged - we all had experience to share.  As always, I was moved by how respectful and generous a conversation in this context can be.

1. What has surprised you or what have you learned or observed most recently about the impact of change/illness/death on yourself or others?
2. What have you noticed as unhelpful or helpful?  Where have you wondered if an action of yours was helpful or unhelpful?
3. And as a Buddhist/practitioner of Zen - how have you responded (or thought you should respond)?

The Last Time   (by Marie Howe)

The last time we had dinner together in a restaurant

with white tablecloths, he leaned forward

and took my two hands in his and said,

I’m going to die soon, I want you to know that.

And I said, I think I do know.

And he said, What surprises me is that you don’t.

AndI said, I do.  And he said, What?

And I said, Know that you’re going to die.

And he said, No, I mean know that you are.

This spring a dear friend died; she was a family friend, someone who came to work for me, so a part of a work community; and someone who was actively part of many local political and arts communities - so a model of someone doing her part to care for the larger world.  She became ill just as I was starting a 10 month training on how to work with people who were sick and dying.  Don’t think that helped; the program was no guarantee that I would do or say the right thing and familiarity didn’t dull the impact of the loss.  Like Marie Howe, the author of this poem, I was intimately present for the reality of my friend's illness and was stunned at the persistence of alternating insight and denial of death.


What I’ve noticed is that at one time I lived in relationship to her; now I live in relationship to her memory.  I think this is why we say people live on in others.  It is the way their memory shapes our behaviors.  And it is an active thing - from the reminder to live life fully now - she died, I can and will to not necessarily at a time of my choosing - to a more subtle integration of her “perspective” on a current problem.  Her voice is still fresh in me as I internally share a story with her and “hear” her perspective.  The outcome is generally a kinder action, the kind she would have advised.


On the second question:


The program I started as she became ill was very rich.  Two things are relevant here.  To be of any use I had to learn to see and learn to stay. To see, I found that when walking into a hospital room or to a bedside, it was valuable to consciously pause to notice sights, sounds, smells, even energy.  Were there flowers, were there tears, were there distractions, was there a feeling of healing or suffering?  Perhaps more importantly, I learned to check in with myself at the threshold and ask: what was I holding on to and could I genuinely let it go so I could meet the patient fully.  Then, whatever emerged, I found that all I needed to do was stay - breathe and respect what was present - anxiety, fear, pain, annoyance, even anger.  Not change it, but respect and acknowledge this person’s experience of their life in this moment.  I found these learnings reflected in a more pragmatic, even funny piece of advice in a really good piece from the NYT on what not to say to someone who is seriously ill and how to help.