With enough morphine running through his veins to kill 20 normal men, he was alert and clear headed. I stayed with him while the nurse cleaned him up. Then he took my hand, looked at me, and said with complete clarity. "Mark, don’t worry. I'm not afraid.” He paused, smiled, and said, “I fought the good fight." I knew that, inside, he was proud as hell of himself. Then he slowly drifted back to sleep, and when he knew it was time to go, he died peacefully and willingly...on his terms.
I will never forget those words. Don’t worry. I’m not afraid. I fought the good fight. Concern for me, comfortable with his own death, and proud of what he’d accomplished.
I suppose it’s reasonable to ask if, at the end, he somehow found God which accounts for how peaceful he was. I wish I knew, but he never mentioned it. He was at peace, and that's all I care about.
I offer this story in tribute to a great man, but also because it reinforces what I've always believed — the end doesn't matter; it’s only the journey that’s important.
Thoreau once wrote, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them." I think that's the saddest thought I've ever heard. Our task in life is to keep our song alive. My dad’s song always rang loud and clear.
Emerson was a little less morbid:
"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment."
"The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.”
"Don’t be too timid and squeamish about your actions. All life is an experiment.”
“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year."
Emerson was an optimist, but these aren't bad rules by which to live your life, and, if you succeed, then does your death really matter?
Article comments
1 - John Spivey
Mark,
Very touching; painful but complete. It would be a cheap god that would order us to believe in a particular faith. Clear-headedness and kindness. What more could be asked of us?
2 - NR Davis
I know your dad's departure was eight years ago, but you have my deepest condolences. Reading the piece made me think about losing my father in late '03. Yeah, it's the journey. How blessed are we that ours included our dads...
3 - Mark Schannon
John & NR, thank you for your sentiments. I never intended to write this, but I was commenting on Chantal's blog and it all just flowed out. Then I knew I had to enhance it and write what's been inside me for so long.
And John, wait until I review your book. It's magnificently written with a complexity that slowly becomes clear as one reads on.
4 - chantal stone
Mark.....
Thanks for the mention ;)
One of things that stands out for me is "the end doesn't matter; it's only the journey that's important."
I think that is so true....one of the things that always bothered me about Christianity, and other faiths for that matter, is that sometimes people can become so consumed with the idea of heaven, "treasures in heaven", that they often neglect to live their lives to fullest here and now.
It sounds like your father lived his life to the fullest, and he passed that gift down to you.
This was beautifully written and I'm really glad you expanded on your thoughts from my blog.
5 - Bliffle
Not many of us can say with truth "I fought the good fight" when we come to the end.
6 - Ruvy in Jerusalem
Mark, your father was one tough and hard to beat man. I'm willing to bet that the Angel of Death is still out of breath from dealing eith him, and its been eight years.
And he said the most important words you could possibly hear from a dying man:
"I fought the good fight."
May I only be so lucky to be able to say something like that near my death, and mean it.
It strikes me that a book about a man that struggled that hard to live would be read as an inspiration. If you get it published, I'll be glad to review it.
7 - Mark Schannon
Bliffle & Ruvy, those last minutes with my father are the clearest and most powerful memories in this mess of neurons I call a brain. I'm not a very visually-oriented person, but I can see it so clearly. I hope too that, at my death, I can go without fear and believing that I fought the good fight.
And Ruvy, the Angel of Death, at last report, was still in a clinic recovering and muttering to himself. God had to name a temporary replacement.
But a book!? Yikes. One of the issues would be the issue of complete disclosure/truth vs. hand selecting events to make a philosophical point. I don't think right now I could write the former--I'm not sure I'd ever be able to. The latter would be a bear--it's an interesting idea and at least I have a start. (Thanks--like I needed more to do, LOL.)
And that's the truth!