Clear Light of Death, page 2

HE BECAME INCREASINGLY morose, paranoid, confused, and unpredictable. Ever since his 50-year law practice had ended badly, he had felt restless, bereft of the ability to accomplish something useful every day as he had done for so many years at the office. He seemed to be haunted by fears of retribution for past actions and unfulfilled expectations.

He often stated that he never came up to his mother's expectations and that he had been a bad husband. Just as often, I reminded him of all his accomplishments and all the ways he had helped people during his long life. He seemed to have a great fear of the unknown future. His fear of suffering in the future was causing him to suffer in the present.

During these last two years I worked on trying to disentangle myself from Dad and to address any unfinished business I might have with him. I wanted to create an atmosphere which would allow him to "do it his way," whatever it was he needed to do before he died. I wanted to get out of his way while spiritually supporting him. Doing tonglen for him was not always easy because his orneriness and unpredictability made daily caretaking decisions exhausting and exasperating.

By the spring of 1999, though, I felt clear of attachments to him, comfortable and calm and with a warm love for him. My sisters said they felt the same way. However, it was still painful and sometimes unnerving to see him so restless, unpredictable, and confused.

Several times during those last weeks, Dad's long-time CNAs cut through the haze with the clearest and most compassionate thoughts or actions. I am grateful to them! The way they cared about him and took care of him was above and beyond their job description. We were very fortunate to have encountered these wonderful women, especially as his final days approached.

SOGYAL RINPOCHE WRITES of the processes of “outer dissolution” and “inner dissolution” during the dying process.

These final processes of dying are said to take about as much time as it takes to "eat a meal," or about twenty minutes. While subtle physical changes are taking place externally, such as a certain pallor, a runny nose, longer outbreaths, the inner process involves the dissolution and death of the three "poisons"---anger, desire, and ignorance. This occurs, Sogyal Rinpoche says, as the "white essence" and the "red essence" come together in the heart and the mind becomes "free of thoughts. . . like an immaculate sky, free of clouds, fog, or mist. It is sometimes called 'the mind of clear light of death.'"

I think my father went through a broader process of dissolution---both inner and outer---during his last year or so. As his physical abilities began to fall away, he seemed to be dealing with feelings of inadequacy, unlovableness, and fear of the unknown.

I occasionally talked to him about these feelings. Talk of religious beliefs was not part of our past relationship and didn't seem much of a comfort, although I am fairly sure he had strong beliefs. He was very loyal to his life-long church, its members and the position of the pastor, but he did not fully respect or admire the current pastor. An associate pastor sometimes visited and prayed with Dad, but this did not happen often.

Anyway, in my experience, talk was of limited help with him. And so I did tonglen practice for him. And in my mind's eye I saw an interesting development.

Outwardly, he had fits of anger and frustration at his inability to control his life. Inwardly, I saw his torso clogged with bundles, packages, things not yet taken care of or put into their proper place. Gradually, portals or windows began to open in his torso, letting in air and allowing him to either let go of or dissolve the packages. I encouraged this with my tonglen practice. After a while there were fewer packages, more air, and a lighter feeling.

Next, there was a huge rack, like antlers or a crown with points reaching way up, on his head, as if his spirit were extending, reaching out.

By late April, as he seemed to be losing ground outwardly---his swallowing and breathing were poor and he ate less---inwardly, I sensed less fear in him. But a fear of not being able to breathe remained.

Dad had been well most of his life except for a slowly progressing disease that affected his lower legs and therefore his mobility. He had never taken major medications, had no heart problems or high blood pressure. At the age of 86, he was simply aging: longer and more frequent naps, less energy, increasing confusion and feebleness. The doctor now diagnosed "dementia," which seems to me a blanket term for the mental aging process.

In early May, he began to have brief "spells" when he would go limp and unresponsive. Probably, as it turns out, these were small seizures associated with the "dementia." During tonglen practice I saw him gradually releasing fears as they came up, but he still had strong cords tying him to various people. He was developing more portals in his torso and there was more open space inside.

On my visits, I chatted with the nursing assistants and Dad, took him for drives or a meal if he felt up to it, and generally tried to carry on as normally and cheerfully as possible. He napped more and more frequently but was perhaps afraid to actually go to sleep. He had told the CNA's that he was "afraid of dying without the girls here," or "afraid of dying alone."

TO FINAL PAGE: Letting Go At Last...