Month: November 2014

Behind Brittany Maynard’s Death

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Were you like me? Did you follow the story with shock and anticipation, hope for a certain ending, wish for a miraculous healing, and wait with bated breath on November 1st to see if she’d stick to her original course of action? Did you read the letters and listen to the YouTube recordings that begged for her to change her heart?

This weekend I shared one of the many blog responses to her decision. A story of a woman who is fighting alongside her mother with the same tumor as Brittany Maynard. I asked the question, “What do you think?” As I read through the debate it became clear that there is something so valuable in this discussion. Yes, I agree these issues should be contemplated with careful consideration. Yes, if we are to vote on mandates or freedoms or taxes in regard to identifying personhood, it isn’t something to overlook. And from a spiritual or moral standpoint, we need to seek. I know where I stand but this isn’t about that. It is about being seen.

“But what about people like my mom? How about the individual who chooses to fight knowing all the consequences that he or she could face?” -Nadin Naumann

“If you ever find yourself walking a mile in my shoes, I hope that you would at least be given the same choice.”  -Brittany Maynard

When the hair she held while her mom vomited in the bathroom eventually falls out in chunks from a toxin that is nearly as deadly as the cancer. When seizures leave her with a bloody mouth and sore joints. When there is no longer a question of modesty. When aching and nausea overtake life.
Do I understand? Can I take into me the severity of this journey? The way it rips into the lives of everyone close?

Not fully. I’ve been in the depths of depression, the throes of anxiety. There have been days when I’ve wanted to be dead, though I’ve never been suicidal. Life can crush and devour and leave us utterly lonely. And I wonder if this is also her hope: Please know how this disease makes us suffer. Get it, the pain that is overwhelming, the fear that won’t cease. Do not miss this because it matters to me so very much that you know hard it is.

 Who of us has not felt the same?

She wanted awareness, for her story to carry meaning well beyond the chill of this fall. And whether I agree with her final choice or not, I want to see the suffering around me. To have the chance to say, You are not alone in your pain.

“Yes, your dying will be hard, but it will not be without beauty.”
“But in our dying, He does meet us with His beautiful grace.”  -Kara Tippetts

Behind Brittany Maynard’s death was much more than a political platform. There was a girl who needed to be seen and loved. That’s what I want to remember.

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My kids call it the spider tree. It’s the Aspen at the back of our yard, forced into the corner where two sides of tall planks of fencing meet and shield our neighbors from unsightly behaviors like headstands gone awry and thirds of s’mores. Only a bush when we signed closing papers, it has grown with the years we’ve made this space ours. A ball stop for my husband as he pitches to our son, the starting point for Easter relay races, the shade needed for family photos. And this time, the backdrop for a showcase of Harry Potter characters.

Someday they’ll tell us in drawn out, annoyed voice inflections about how “we always had to take pictures outside.” I will care not. Because in ten years when one of them is balancing 12 credit hours, another is explaining scientific theorem of tornadoes using words too large for my comprehension, and the youngest is a pock-marked hot mess of hormones, I will be thankful for these snapshots that captured time. I will remember how they couldn’t quite fill the Gryffindor robes. How my son’s glasses were the most authentic addition to the costume. How black and orange tights bunched just behind the sweet bows of little shoes. The kind with a strap over the top of her foot and a rounded toe. The kind she won’t want to wear in middle school.

When I look back on this day I will not remember bad attitudes or impatience over darkness taking a millennia to arrive. I won’t remember their eye-rolling about arms so nearly touching each other’s they could gag, or the restlessness in all of us while Dad figure’s out camera settings.
I’ll see how their smiles were a clue to their budding personalities: her crinkled nose often accompanied with that signature, infectious giggle; his relaxed, obligatory grin; her lack of lips as she pulls them tight so her cheeks bulge sweetly.

Some leaves are starting to brown around the outer margins, like ready pie crust. Some are just peaking in yellowed brilliance. But most have dropped from every cool breeze that brings with it a promise, it won’t be long now. The earth groans for winter’s rest. The way I’ll groan for them to be young again.

“You are but a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.”  -James 4:14

Just like that, the limbs will be bare.
Just like that, snow and ice will have their way.
Just like that, my daughter will have her own babies. My son will stand tall and strong in tears and a tux as he watches his bride walk down the aisle. My youngest will have taken more risks than I could have ever dared.

Just like that, they will be gone. And I will miss all this.