Deryn Blackwell (14) had suffered from
two forms of cancer for almost three years, during which time he had numerous
treatments, including four bone marrow transplants in 2013, none of which
seemed to ‘take.’ By last December, his immune system no longer functioning, he
had three major infections.
His family celebrated Christmas on 14th December because they’d been told he wouldn’t make it to the 25th. Yet even though he had been taken off antibiotics as his case was judged
hopeless, somehow his wounds healed, somehow his body began producing white
blood cells again.
He had begun a recovery, reported in the
press last week, which doctors deem ‘impossible.’ It is further evidence that
sometimes, miracles happen.
Deryn had faced up to the fact that he
was dying. His mum Callie says ‘Deryn said that when he finally accepted his
was going to die, it was the best day of his life because it gave him this calm
and peaceful feeling, like he finally had control over his life and where he
was going.’
No one who has not received a diagnosis
of a terminal illness can possibly imagine what it must feel like. But there
are frequent reports of people given a limited number of weeks or months to
live who say that despite the sadness they have found peace and meaningfulness,
and even a strange wistful joy.
My recent mini-stroke was not
life-threatening, but it did confront me with my own mortality. Together with
the recognition that it might be followed by a far more serious episode came a
heightened sense of the value of each day, each moment, each person, each
conversation.
The old Christian writers advise us to
‘Live every day as though it were your last.’ It is, I believe, true that a
healthy acceptance that we are not here for ever is the key to wise living, the
key to extracting the most from life, and contributing the most to life.
I was interested in Deryn’s view of what
happens when we die. Callie tells us ‘He described it as having an open door in
front of you with a light, and you know that when you walk through that door
all pain will end and you will be free.’
Our view of what dying entails colours
our approach to death. Do I believe that when the last brain cells cease
firing, I am gone forever? Do I believe in the tunnel of light to the place of
welcome (or perhaps of anguish) which the stories of near-death experiences
describe? Do I believe in multiple incarnations? Or do I accept the Christian
vision of death, as entry into another dimension where our lives will be
assessed, and the quality of our loving, and above all our attitude to the
Jesus who offers us freedom from fear of judgement?
It seems important not to latch on
unthinkingly to cultural assumptions about death, but to explore the issues and
the evidence, and to listen out for the God whom Christians believe assures us
that death is not the end, and encourages us to put our confidence in Jesus
Christ.
I was struck by the difficulty Deryn had
in coming to terms with not dying.
‘Cancer boy faces his toughest test coping with a miracle recovery,’ one
headline ran. His family say ‘Deryn has had every certainty removed.’ For a
time he even stopped eating because he couldn’t face the prospect of living,
but now he is able ‘to picture his own future.’
This feeling of being sentenced to life,
not death seems counter-intuitive. But it reminds me that while it’s healthy to
live in the light of our morality, it is not healthy to be defined by our
mortality.
I can imagine that if I had a troubling
diagnosis, or found myself limited physically, or if I was depressed or
otherwise mentally ill, or even if I reached a significant birthday, I might
say ‘This is it. Life is over’ and find some dubious comfort in withdrawal from
life.
If ever I feel that way, I hope I will
remind myself that accepting my mortality is a gateway to entering as fully as
I am able into the life God calls me to, a life which continues beyond death. For
Daryn, death was ‘the next adventure.’ Sometimes we need to rediscover the
‘next adventure’ which life offers us. God pictures our future, and summons us
into it.
It’s easy to talk about death. Harder to
accept that I will die one day. And yet, as I reflected in the aftermath of my
mini-stroke, I realised that everything would be OK, really it would, as I
entrusted myself not to rumours of a tunnel of light but to the living Jesus.
(Christian Viewpoint column from the Highland News dated 6th March 2014)
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