So here’s the story… I moved to Stroudsburg, PA this past July to become Rabbi at Temple Israel of the Poconos. As part of the move, I needed to find new doctors who would look after me. I made an appointment with one of the local specialists, who suggested that I should have my lungs checked as part of a thorough physical examination. So he scheduled me for a C.A.T. scan, expecting to find nothing out of the ordinary. Well, surprise, surprise! When I returned to the doctor for the results, he told me that there was a spot on my lungs, and he could not rule out lung cancer!
Next he scheduled me three days later for a P.E.T. scan, which would definitely show if anything was going on in my throat. I came to the surgery center and they inserted some dye through an IV, which would flow through my entire upper body, and by means of the the scan, would clearly allow the radiologists to diagnose any real or potential problems. So I lay still for sixty-five minutes, trying to “zone out,” actually counting the seconds (one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three…) and pretty much trying to act like the macho man that I did not feel like. My doctor had scheduled the next appointment for a week later. I asked him for an earlier date, but he said it took that long for the results and the evaluation of the scan. Actually, that was all done two hours after the test, but who knew?
I had a whole week to think about dying of lung cancer. What made it really scary was–my Mother died of lung cancer. She was a heavy smoker, I have never smoked, but I had already presumed that it was genetic and that my life was over. And then I began to plan. What would I do with the time I had left? First, would I take chemo and radiation for the cancer? I decided absolutely not, since I was not prepared to spend the next year suffering through mind-and-body-numbing treatments which would at best give me another month or two of life which was not-life. I have seen too many of my congregants and friends go through that, it was not for me. Would I quit my job as Rabbi? Yes, I would have done that immediately, and I even began working on my final sermon. I would have told my new congregation that there were places in this world that I wanted to visit with Ellen, and that I especially needed to return to Israel for a final visit, so I was resigning from the pulpit, to live out the rest of my life the way I wanted to. I would thank them for the lessons they have already taught me even in the short time we had together, and I would ask their forgiveness for any pain I had caused them. In short, I would complete my relationship with them before I left.
After seeing other parts of the world, I would return home and begin to travel all across the country, giving a lecture to anyone who might be interested, entitled: “Final Life-Thoughts of a Grateful Rabbi.” The lecture would talk about gratitude being my first-choice feeling on learning of my impending death. Above all, I am grateful for the life that I had been granted; I considered my life a precious gift to me from God. After gratitude comes everything else, all other feelings and thoughts. The world can only be repaired when gratitude replaces entitlement, when we move outside of ourselves toward others in our lives. I was not angry, just sad that I would not live to see my kids’ life-cyle events or share in the lives of my grandchildren as I had hoped to be able to do. My hopes, dreams and aspirations have been reached, I would die fulfilled and happy. If my time had come, I would be ready, unafraid and unashamed of what I had accomplished in my life. I know that I have mattered to lots of folks, and my teachings and my memories would be my final gift to them, and to the Universe.
I fully believe that when our mission on this earth is accomplished, we can then be ready and prepared to leave this world for whatever comes next. The problem is–who among us knows when that will happen? How will we know when our life-missions will have been accomplished? We don’t, so that when God has decided that my earthly purpose has been fulfilled, who am I to argue? Even more, I have known too many women and men who have lived “too long,” that is to say that their final years were spent in pain or in a nursing home, or totally unable to communicate with those they love. I would indeed be fortunate, because I would leave this life on my own terms, proud and grateful. And not in any physical pain.
So you see, smart guy that I am, I was sure I had it all figured out. Needless to say, thank God, the results came back showing that the spot on my lungs was just that, some benign scar tissue left over from who-knows-when. I was elated. I really was! But to tell the deep, dark, dirty, honest-to-God truth, I was just a wee bit disappointed at the same time. I was actually looking forward to the last year of my life, I was going to be able to fill the closing chapter of my existence with passion! Between seeing the world, teaching women and men all across America the truths I had learned, finishing my book on grief and hope, perhaps starting another book, my days would be filled with joy and creativity. They would be filled with life, not death, and when the end would come, I would feel that the banquet of my life had been well worth my fifty-nine years of effort.
That’s my story, and it has a happy ending. Sort of. The gnawing-in-my-kishkas question I continue to ask myself ever since this happened is: What’s stopping me from doing all those things I was going to do when I knew I was dying? How many of them can I still do right now, while I am still living? Why will I have to wait until the Angel of Death comes calling for me, for real? It is these questions, not thoughts of my death, which continue to haunt me. Maybe soon I’ll have some good answers.
http://www.yourgriefmatters.com
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