The term "quality of life" means different things to different people. For me, it's shifted through the years. Being raised in the country, my family and I saw life as a cycle. We watched aging beings, both human and animal, live and die and we honored this process. There were occasions when we questioned what was happening and wondered why suffering happened in so many lives. As I got older, I realized that people have frequently been put in situations where life and death decisions need to be made. Having animals euthanized is never an easy decision, and as a dear friend of mine once said: "Putting an animal to sleep is not easy, nor should it be." However, in my belief system there does come a time, with some, where suffering needs to end with a helping hand.
In the human world, hospice has been a tremendous opportunity for cultures to process their grief and transitions. Funerals have never been a ritual that feels right to me. Memorials on the other hand seem to make sense to me and help with the processing of such deep emotions. After a year and half of enduring Alzheimer's disease, my father was unable to stay at home and have my mother be his primary caregiver. When he was in the hospice unit those last few days, I remember the compassion of his doctor. The man honored my father when he spoke of his military service in World War II and the years he was a merchant marine. The doctor has also served as a merchant seaman. He told my mother and me that he could make my father comfortable with morphine even though it would shorten his life. My dad was 91 and his organs were tired and shutting down. We immediately and without a doubt told the doctor to make him comfortable. My mother and I said our goodbyes to a body whose spirit was leaving and that night, my father left this world. The kindness shown to my parents and me by this doctor and his staff was something that deeply touched me. To them, peace and comfort were guiding principles in quality of life.
One of my paternal aunts was dying in a hospital of bone cancer in the early 1990's. She recognized my voice and could reach out for me even though she never opened her eyes. The last day I saw her alive, she was in pain. The hospital's rules forbid giving her enough medication to make her comfortable. Hospice was not an option she was given. I remember leaving her room, walking into the hallway and sobbing into a friend's arms. It hurt me that someone who spent decades being a nurse to comfort the suffering was not able to find peace in her dying days. I choose to believe that death gave her the comfort she sought.
I'm writing about this topic because today was the day my husband and I decided to yet again address the quality of life of one of our animals. This time it is a young cat whose neurological issues are impairing her quality of life. As we keep her comfortable, waiting to see if there is a change, we somehow deeply know that the time for her to transition on is sooner than later. This has been a pattern for us over the last year. August brought us saying goodbye to our just shy of 13 year old Bouvier des Flandres dog. April had us saying goodbye to our first Bouvier, sister to the one in August, and our big beautiful black and white kitty. It has been a huge set of transitions and even now the concept of quality of life is no clearer in our minds and hearts.
My husband and I are both spiritual people and for me I deeply believe death is just part of our cycle of life. My husband is still shifting through the old messages of death and suffering. As I reflect on life and death and quality of life, I think of my own mortality. My life has been a lot of things and suffering has been a part of it. I don't enjoy the suffering part. I do my best to honor it. As Les Brown says: "This has not come to stay. It has come to pass." Lots of events, moments, losses, and joys have come and passed to some extent. I am forever changed by the occurrences in my life and for the most part I would say broadened and deepened by them.
It is not without sadness that I face my mortality and that of others. It is with perseverance and strong spiritual faith that I face what is to come. I am grateful for the connection I've had with those who have crossed on.
Maya Angelou was a great influence in my life and her transition deeply saddened me. I know her spirit and legacy will shine on and I am grateful for the gifts she brought and shared in this world. It's easy to get lost in what was and how things used to be. For me and the many transitions in my life, I am humbled and somehow empowered. Truly, this has not come to stay but rather it has come to pass.
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