Regrets of the dying

I recently came across an article called "Regrets of the Dying" by Bronnie Ware. It's a synthesised list of the top five regrets people have during their last few weeks of life, written from her experience as a palliative care worker. I found it to be a very thought-provoking read.

"REGRETS OF THE DYING

For many years I worked in palliative care. My patients were those who had gone home to die. Some incredibly special times were shared. I was with them for the last three to twelve weeks of their lives.

People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality. I learnt never to underestimate someone's capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected, denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them.

When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me. 

This was the most common regret of all. When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.

It is very important to try and honour at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.

2. I wish I didn't work so hard.

This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children's youth and their partner's companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.

By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.

3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.

Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.

We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.

It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called 'comfort' of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.

When you are on your deathbed, what others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.

Life is a choice. It is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness."

Each of these regrets strikes a chord with me. I hope that on my deathbed (if I make it that far in life) I'll be able to reflect on my life and be content. No doubt I'll have made loads of mistakes and wish that I could undo certain things or do certain things differently, but generally I hope I'll be happy with and proud of the way I spent the time God gave me. It's encouraging to hear that all of Bronnie Ware's patients found peace before they passed away.

I also found it ironic how thinking about death reminds me of the importance of striving to live well. As Qoheleth remarks in Ecclesiastes 7:4: "The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth." Death is sobering. We shouldn't be afraid of it - it's inevitable. Instead, we should try our best to live truly human lives while we can.

G.

Mary and Max

Recently I watched a movie called "Mary and Max", and I wanted to blog about it because I really enjoyed it. Judging by the poster I thought it was a claymation children's movie. I was wrong.

I'd like to give a summary of the plot in my own words, but Wikipedia does a pretty good job of it so I'm just going to copy and paste what it says, and add in some details in square parentheses:

"It is 1976, and 8-year-old Mary Daisy Dinkle is a lonely little girl living in Mount Waverley, Australia. Her relatively poor family cannot afford to buy her toys or nice clothing, and she is teased by children at her school due to an unfortunate birthmark on her forehead. Her father is distant and her alcoholic, kleptomaniac mother provides no support. The closest thing Mary has to a friend is the man for whom she collects mail, Len Hislop, a Greek-Australian World War II veteran who lost his legs in combat and has developed agoraphobia.

One day, by pure chance, she decides to write a letter to a man living in New York City: Max Jerry Horowitz [she accompanies her mother to the post office and while her mother is stealing envelopes, she rips out Max's address from a New York City phone book]. Max turns out to be a morbidly obese 44-year-old whose various mental problems (including anxiety attacks and overeating) have left him unable to form close bonds with other people. Max decides to write back to Mary, and the two become friends. Over time, Mary's increasingly sensitive questions about the adult world give Max progressively worse anxiety attacks, and he is ultimately institutionalised. During his time there, Max is diagnosed with depression and Asperger's syndrome. Now aware of why he has difficulty relating to other people, Max finds a new lease on life and resumes his correspondence with Mary.

The two remain friends for the next two decades, keeping one another updated on various events in their lives [including Mary's parents' separate and untimely deaths]. Mary, inspired by her friendship with Max, becomes a psychologist and marries her childhood crush, an effeminate young man named Damien Popodopoulos, who enjoys sewing but fears Mary's sexual advances. Max wins the New York lottery, using his winnings to buy a (literal) lifetime's supply of chocolate and then giving the rest away to his elderly neighbour, who wastes most of it before dying and leaving the remainder to a cat shelter only to have the owner of the shelter take it all for himself.

After earning her degree, Mary writes a psychological book detailing her communication with Max, in an attempt to dissect Asperger's syndrome. Max is infuriated, having told Mary that he has come to terms with his illness and sees it as an integral part of his personality, not something that needs to be diagnosed and cured. Max ends his communication with Mary, sending her the "M" key from his typewriter. When Mary receives the key in the mail, she is heartbroken and has the entire run of the book pulped, ruining her career. Jobless and friendless, Mary discovers that while she has been focused on her book, her husband has left her for his own penpal, a gay sheep farmer from New Zealand. Mary sinks into chronic depression and alcoholism; although Max decides to forgive Mary and sends her a present in an attempt to reconcile, Mary becomes a shut-in, leaving the box on her porch for several days. Ultimately, Mary decides to hang herself, unaware that she is pregnant.

Just as Mary is about to kill herself, Len knocks on her door, having conquered his agoraphobia to alert her of the package on her porch. Opening it, Mary finds Max's reconciliation gift, along with an accompanying letter detailing the reasons why he forgives her, how much their friendship means to him, and his hope that one day their lives will intersect and they will meet in person. It is enough to jar Mary from her depression, and she decides to start her life over again.

One year later, Mary travels to America with her infant son to finally visit Max. Entering his apartment, Mary discovers the now elderly Max, sitting on his couch, gazing upward, having passed away peacefully earlier that morning. SEeing this, Mary returns the removed "M" key to Max's typewriter and sits down next to him with her son. Looking around the apartment, Mary discovers that Max has organised the entire ceiling into a detailed scrapbook of his friendship with Mary, composed of all of her letters from over the years, which is what he was looking at when he died. Seeing how much Max valued their friendship and how happy it made him, Mary is moved to tears of joy as the film closes."

This movie was awesome. I didn't expect it to deal with such serious themes (broken home, loneliness, death, failed marriage, substance abuse, depression, suicide), but once I realised it was a movie for grown-ups, I quickly appreciated its quirky charm and unique story. The friendship between Mary and Max, two completely different individuals who have nothing in common apart from the fact that they are both social pariahs, is unorthodox yet beautiful. They find comfort and support in each other, and grow to genuinely love and care for one another. One particular scene of the film stood out for me. When Mary is still a young girl, Max tells her in one of his letters that he cannot cry. In response, Mary peels an onion, collects her tears in a jar and sends it to Max. Also, the whole movie is colourless: Mary's world is sepia, and Max's world is grey. While this doesn't change, it's clear that the characters' friendship brings colour to both their lives.

While the story was theatrical, it was moving and unusual, which I really liked. It drove home the truism that humans are made for relationships; Mary and Max become more human through their friendship. And the film conveyed the message of hope in its own wonderfully weird way. Things might look bleak and there may seem to be no way out of the deep pit you somehow got into, but you'll survive, with a little help from your loved ones.

If you're keen to watch something quaint and special, check out "Mary and Max".

Have a great day.

G.

I'm technically an author

I wrote my Law Honours dissertation last year on the repeal of the defence of provocation in New Zealand, and I got a decent grade for it, which means that there's a copy of it in the Davis Law Library. The other week I shamelessly looked up my name on Voyager (Auckland University's library catalogue), and my dissertation came up! It was pretty cool.

So I guess I'm technically an author! I wonder if anyone will borrow my dissertation (apart from Chris, who apparently got it out to check out my abstract and structure). I also wonder if any academics or judges will cite it in their articles or judgments. No harm in wishful thinking.

G.

Children with swag

I came across this blog called "Children With Swag" through some American friends of mine. The title says it all: it's a collection of photographs of stylish children. Here's the link to it:

http://childrenwithswag.tumblr.com/

I don't know whether I should feel like a paedo for rating this blog, but I can't help the fact that I love children and I love swag. Combining the two may seem unnatural at the outset, but once you embrace the concept you'll see that it's awesome.

Here are some of my favourite children with swag:

Cutest little gangster!

Rocking some shades.

Ohhhhh yeaaaaa.

Posing with a bicycle while friends hang off a gate.

S.W.A.G.

So much swag.

He must be a part-time model.

A young gentleman.

I heart hot milk.

"Swag" is my middle name.

I wish I had as much swag as these kids do.

G.

Happy birthday message for atheists

I don't mean to offend anyone, particularly because some of my dearest friends are atheists, but this e-card from www.someecards.com made me laugh.

I suppose atheists could turn this around by replacing "atheism" with "Christianity" or any other religion out there. Nevertheless, what a funny little birthday message. I wonder if I could give this e-card to someone I know for their birthday and not have them sever ties with me.

G.