Being around people who are near death isn't depressing, it's enlightening. Knowing you're going to die doesn't seem to bring about panic and terror, as you would imagine; instead my patients seem contemplative, their reflections often tinged with regret. Not about the future they don't have but about the life they lived. Regrets about working too much are a familiar refrain – sacrificing time spent with loved ones for that all-consuming job. It seemed so important at the time, but in hindsight their priorities were wrong.
One patient wondered why he had been in a bad mood for most of his life. At a time when he was justified in feeling slightly negative, he chose instead to lighten up. He discovered being upbeat could be a conscious choice; there was no need to be negative. He explained that knowing he had very little time left made each day feel rare. His family were surprised at the new him: they would visit bracing themselves for the usual cantankerous father and find a gentle stranger in his place.
Another went through his old address book, determined to catch up with people he'd neglected over the years. He wished he'd cherished his friendships rather than let them slide.
Working with terminally ill patients brings a daily reminder not to let life slip by unnoticed. I watch these people and try to apply their philosophies to my own life. Their lives drawing to a close make me wonder why it takes death to make you appreciate life.
Comments (…)
Sign in or create your Guardian account to join the discussion