Death Called While You Were Out

I got reminded two months ago that Death is coming for me. The cardiologist, who had incidentally diagnosed my late mother’s atrial fibrillation, told me that I have some arterial blockage. “You may have already had a heart attack,” he said, adding that “the probability isn’t very high.” I don’t think he meant it to minimize the impact. If he did, it was as ineffective as if he’d said, “The outside temperature is 96°.” It was like a note on my desk from the front office: Death called, said he’d catch up with you later.

Just a quick hello from your friendly neighborhood Grim Reaper.

Death No Stranger, But No Friend

Not that I’ve never had a close brush with Death before. I’ve been held up at gunpoint twice during my time in the fast-food industry. Once, I was taking shelter in downtown Omaha when a tornado touched down about half a mile away and tore through the middle of Council Bluffs across the Missouri River. Death made its most dramatic impression on me in sixth grade when a classmate in my small school was abducted and murdered. (In your charity, say a prayer for the soul of Jay Durnil.) Death isn’t exactly a stranger to me.

Neither is Death desirable as a close companion. If we’re honest, we’ll admit that it’s something we put out of our minds for long stretches of time. An eventuality, yes, but one that’s for some distant future, not one that can overtake us tonight. Of the over 7,400 people who will die today in the U.S. alone, how many will die in their beds, having gone to sleep expecting that they would wake up the next morning? How could my friend Larry Kankiewicz (eternal rest) know that he would die, not asleep in his bed but rather climbing a ladder?

I’ve had high blood pressure for over twenty years now. It’s a natural consequence of having been obese for most of my life, along with an almost 40-year-long, pack-and-a-half-per-day tobacco addiction. Not to mention the cardio issues that run in my mother’s family. So having some arterial blockage isn’t an astonishing revelation for me. The surprise was how much the words “you may have already had a heart attack” rattled my sangfroid. It turns out that I’m not as blasé about the prospect of dying as I fancied myself to be.

The Courage to Change

Six years ago, I wrote about the freedom of weakness: “It’s liberating when you realize that, no matter what you do, the results will be the same. You don’t always have the luxury of knowing that your action will have only minimal effect on the outcome. It’s like a message from God: ‘Dude, I got this. You go do the right thing, and let Me handle the rest.’” At that time, I was stressing our need to distinguish between the things we can change and those we can’t, as in Reinhold Niebuhr’s famous “Serenity Prayer.”

But Niebuhr’s prayer, in his 1951 version, speaks of changing “the things which should be changed.” Change takes work. I’ve confessed to the cardinal sins of Gluttony and Pride, but not to Sloth, except indirectly as a lack of charity for myself. When you get accommodated to a particular mode de vivre, it’s awfully tempting to see the defects of that mode as irreformable, even if you know they’re degrading the quality of your life. This dishonesty allows Sloth to masquerade as an acceptance of death. To be brutally honest, I don’t really want to change.

On at least three occasions during her last years, my mother told me, “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life just trying to stay alive.” If she couldn’t find a reason to try, I couldn’t give it to her. But now I wonder if she was even looking for a reason not to go gentle into that good night. I wonder if the death of my younger brother Bob, for whose health she had sacrificed for so many years, hadn’t taken the fight out of her. And that turns the question back on me:

If I can’t find a reason to fight for my life, who can give one to me?

Reasons to Fight

The first reason to fight for my life is that, in the strictest sense, it isn’t “mine.” It belongs to God, the “sovereign Master of life” (Catechism of the Catholic Church 2280). I merely hold it in trust, as a steward, until the day comes when He calls it back from me, whether that day is tomorrow or forty years hence. My body is likewise entrusted to me and is not mine to dispose of as I wish (CCC 2288). Eating healthy meals, exercising, and quitting tobacco are hardly unreasonable efforts to fulfill that trust.

The second reason to fight against death is much like the first: I belong to myself, but I don’t belong only to myself. None of us do. I have a network of relationships with people who, for some unfathomable reason, enjoy having me in their lives and have come to depend on me in different ways for various things. To destroy myself would be to fail their trust and love. Eventually, death will take me from them, but I don’t have to help it along.

The third reason is that, as much as I might rail against certain aspects of life, I do enjoy it. The late great Daniel P. Moynihan is commonly quoted as saying, “To be Irish is to know that in the end, the world will break your heart.” But the world can only break our hearts if we love it. The world could not fail of its possibilities if it did not have possibilities. If this life had no value, no intrinsic worthiness, eternal life would have no attraction. That’s the difference between the martyr and the suicide.

In the “Salve Regina,” we call this life a “valley of tears.” But if we’re honest, we’ll admit they’re occasionally tears of joy.

Being Grateful This Thanksgiving

It’s been a few weeks since I started this essay. In the meantime, I’ve gone through some tests. The cardiologist told me that the blockage is not significant enough to require additional medication, let alone surgical intervention. I have plenty to be grateful for this Thanksgiving, and this is one more. The proper way to show gratitude for gifts given is to take care of them. I’ve been given the supreme gift of life, so I must take care of it. Therefore, I must pray for the courage to change the things that should be changed. And I ask for your prayers in support.

Remember the parable of the Rich Fool (Luke 12:16-21): Tomorrow may never come, so today—every day—is the day to show gratitude for the gifts you have been given, especially the people in your life. While the gift of life is yours, take care of it, but also make use of it for the benefit of others. As we move into Christmas, remember that the best gifts you can give the people in your life are your time, attention, and compassion. They, too, are not guaranteed tomorrow, so cherish them while they’re here to be cherished.

One final thought: As I finish this essay, I’ve just heard about the mass shooting at the LGTBQ club in Colorado Springs. When Death finally comes for us, it may not be with a warning from the front office. Pray for us all.