"Death Panel" in the Season of Rebirth

IN HONOR OF BROTHER MICHAEL STEWART

ON A WEDNESDAY, just after Easter, in the season during which everything is reborn, Brother Michael Stewart left us. After an extended battle with “Pick’s Disease,” an insidious type of dementia, along with ALS, the death panel was convened. Here’s how the conversation went:

GOD: MICHAEL, I NEED YOU TO COME HOME.
MICHAEL: I AM READY.

A whole bunch of reflection follows these times of passing, especially for those of us who have been involved in or witnessed the process of talking with ICU nurses, physicians, specialists, social workers, and the clergy. Some of us cry. Some laugh. Some of us turn inward and contemplate in silence. Some wander outside and look for the newest star in the heavens. Everyone seems to recollect the good times, the good husbanding or wifing, the good fathering or mothering or sonning or daughtering. Some, with faith, commend the departed to the arms of God. Others, with a different kind of faith, know that the deceased will always be with us and never really departs.


OUR OWN ABILITY to accept the movement of a loved one from this place to whatever the next one looks like is limited. If, indeed, he or she is going to a better place, then the tears shed should not be bitter, but joyous and celebratory. An irony of religion is the standardization of the mourning process and how that process conflicts with the lessons of the afterlife so commonly taught in church. The result is that we fear something over which we have no control – something that is as inevitable and, perhaps, as beautiful as tomorrow’s sunrise.

The exploitation of this fear by political interests stretches far beyond reprehensible. It is downright evil. In the recent health care debate, lies about death panels fueled an irrational opposition to necessary changes in how we care for our nation’s people. It is a damnable exploitation of our simple uncertainties surrounding the certain. It is indicative as to how discourse in our “Christian” nation has declined; how we sacrifice honest debate in the pursuit of power. A power that, in the end, really doesn’t much matter.


AFTER A LONG DRIVE HOME from the hospital in Napa, I had a still moment in the driveway. My wife – his sister – Candi had gone to bed after an incredibly difficult day and the dogs were thankfully quiet. I stared into a wonderfully clear night sky. I spotted a new star up there – I just know it – and I knew Michael was safe. Not being a prayerful kind of guy, I must admit that I did have moment. I asked that when my death panel meets, the conversation goes something like this:

GOD: I NEED YOU TO COME HOME.
ME: I AM READY.


© 2010
Church of the Open Road Press