Dear Death

I am in the process of becoming an ELNEC certified trainer.  ELNEC stands for “End-of-Life Nursing Education Consortium.”  With this title, I will become a PCRP, "Palliative Care Resource Professional."  As you can imagine, it is predominantly nurses who go through this training; however, at our hospital, we find it very important for chaplains to go through this training, too.  There is focus on palliative care, pain and symptom management, active listening, honest engagement about death, and the fulfillment of patients’ wishes as they face the end of their life.  One of the activities we did at the training was explained as follows:

"Write death a letter.  Begin with the line 'Dear Death,' and write whatever comes to mind."  There were close to 50 of us in the room: 40+ nurses, 6 chaplains, and 1 occupational therapist.  We wrote our letters in silence.  After 10 minutes, our leader allowed us to share out loud.  Examples included light-hearted answers like “Dear Death, bite me.”  Some claimed their hope in Christ and said things like, “Dear Death, you do not have control over me.  Only God does.  If it is God’s time, then it can be yours, too.”  One nurse fought back the tears as she read something along the lines of, “Dear Death, you have already taken so many of my family members. Why do you keep showing up in our lives without us inviting you??”  I realized how death looked different to each person in the room.  Same greeting: "Dear Death," yet totally different paths emerging from each person's heart.  I know I’ve seen a lot of death lately…I am often reminded of my own mortality, especially when the young ones die.  Part of my letter included, “I thought I was too young for this…silly me, thinking I was invincible.  But since you’re here, I’ll put on my best dress and high heels.  I’m ready to dance.”

Sometimes death is the uninvited guest.  Other times death is an answer to prayers after a long and hard journey of suffering.  Death can be the last word for some families; for others, death can be the first time grief and true feelings are expressed.  Death can be the end of suffering for many people, but can also be the beginning of suffering for families who have never had to talk about their emotions before.  I have seen patients die at the hospital and seen many outcomes: watched family fall to their knees at their bedside...kiss the hands and forehead of their loved one…embrace one another…walk out of the room, never to return…smile as they imagine their loved one pain-free in heaven…shake the body, hoping to wake it from the dead…kiss the tiny fingers and toes of a child or baby who has died...watched families crumble, realizing the deceased loved one was the glue holding a fragile, broken family together.


In many ways, I have prepared for my own death.  One of my seminary classes required that I write my own obituary and plan my funeral service.  I already have my Living Will and Healthcare Surrogate forms completed.  I told my family I want to be cremated, not buried.  I am only 26.  But with all that in order, it still was eye-opening to write Death a letter.  What would you say?  How might you welcome death?  Or run from it?  Or pray that it stays far away?  Or ask God that death meet you before death meets your spouse…or your child…or your parent? 

Sure, we all imagine how we might die.  We plan it in our head, many of us hoping for the least pain possible.  To die in our sleep, to not be a financial burden to our family, to be surrounded by our loved ones.  But sometimes death sneaks up on us.  Sometimes our heart stops without any warning signs.  Some die way too young.  Some die suddenly in accidents.  Some become diagnosed with cancer and die weeks later.  Some babies die before they even leave their mother’s womb.

I know this is heavy stuff, but it is on my heart this week.  And of all the weeks to write about it, I thought Holy Week would be an appropriate time as those of us who are Christian journey with Christ through the palm branches…to the table with his disciples…to the cross…to the tomb.  But we know the Easter story doesn’t end there.  We know on Sunday we will awaken to an empty tomb.  That is the hope we have as we talk about the difficulty of facing death.  For me, writing this letter to Death invited me to sit in the ‘Friday and Saturday’ of the Easter story, yet knowing that 'Sunday' would soon be there to welcome me.  And as I told Death, 'Sunday' too should know that I'll be in my best dress and high heels, ready to dance.


I remember learning my first important life lesson when I was about 6 years old.  While sitting around the dinner table, a close family friend taught me, “There are only 2 things in life you have to do: pay taxes and die.”  Well, it’s tax day…and I’m not getting any younger.