Reflections on Resilience

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A SHORT STORY

My Dad heads into Hospice this week.

Now that the end is nearer, I'm struck by his fear of meeting death. He's certainly not ready to go, which makes me wonder how I will meet this similar moment.

It’s something I experienced with my Mother in a different, but similar way.

I offer it now as a personal parable.

It was an early Monday morning in 2016, around 4:00 AM. My mom was on her deathbed, and I was sleeping in my old childhood room upstairs. I received a knock on my door.

“Please come right now, your mom wants to stand.”

In a sleepless daze, I scurried down the stairs.

And there she was, on the edge of the bed, determined to stand and escape her sickness for a moment—determined to fight. I remember shaking my head and laughing at the sight of it. But I wish I understood what I do now. While it was probably a crazy idea, it was something more than that.

She wanted to stand one more time.

And she did stand.

She stood and then slowly collapsed into the bed, releasing to her death.

She was never conscious after that moment.

I held her hand the whole time.

Two days later, I held her hand as she took her last breath.

Looking back on it, it made total sense. At the core of every human being is a desire to stand, a desire to fight.

We want to die straight.

As I face this moment with my dad, I carry the memory of my mom’s final stand. It reminds me of the resilience within us all—even when the end is near. Perhaps the best we can do is honor that fight, hold each other’s hands, and stand with courage and love until the very last breath.

What does it mean for you to stand in difficult moments?

A PIECE OF ART

“Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Grateful,

Michael