A patient of mine was discussing the holidays with me and remarked that she really did not know what to think about them as she had not expected to be here for another Christmas. She said that these holidays did not seem real to her as she is not a part of this life anymore. While she was certainly alive, she was right in a way. She had become disinterested in what was happening in the world, a natural part of dying. She had let go. While there was a poignancy to this, I was touched by her clarity about how she “fit”, her openness about not belonging. Her focus had shifted, and she was fine with that.
The rest of us did have plans for this holiday—also upended—which left us wondering and grieving as well. This has not been the year to celebrate as we always have. Smaller gatherings, if at all. Cancelled visiting plans. Outdoor holiday “picnics” around a fire to celebrate (yes, even in Minnesota!), gift opening in the driveway. More treats in baskets and tins to replace the family feast. Dozens of Zoom holiday celebration pictures on social media. We have not let go however, and for most of us then, there is an undercurrent of sadness and melancholy.
I keep wondering if one of the lessons out of this pandemic might be that we change our assumptions about planning, about how things “are”. This is a challenge. On the one hand, we need to plan. It gives our life structure; we have beautiful things to look forward to, save for, talk about. My patient and I worked out a vigil plan so that her desires were laid out for the time when she could no longer articulate her wishes as she actively died. The music which would be played, who was invited into the room. What she wanted the room to smell like, what words were okay to be spoken. My patient had her plan taped to the wall of her room so that anyone who entered knew what to do.
We do not know, however, if the vigil plan will be implemented. Just as the holidays were upended for all of us, sometimes people die in their sleep or alone, particularly in this dark time of the pandemic. In each instance, we are called to be flexible, open to modification, open to finding joy and comfort even as plans change, or even when we cannot make any plans, even if the plan is dying.
I think it is hope that keeps us all going. It is that hope that defines the human spirit. It is one of the things that make me happy to be human.
My favorite quote about hope comes from Vaclav Havel, the Czech playwright, a part of which is here:
HOPE in this deep and powerful sense is not the same as joy that things are going well or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously headed for early success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good, not because it stands a chance to succeed.
HOPE is definitely not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but certainty that something makes sense regardless of how it turns out.
It is HOPE, above all which gives the strength to live and continually try new things.”
My wish for all of us is to be able to sustain that hopeful spirit as we move through the dark nights of winter.