Throughout my childhood and well into adolescence, death perplexed me as the most incomprehensible subject – and I mean that in the most literal sense of the word. I eschewed the thought of it whenever it wandered into my mind, which occurred more frequently than one might expect. Staring at the ceiling as I tried to fall asleep, lost in thought on a long car ride, and, of course – while my mind wandered during the homily at Sunday mass – the endlessly enigmatic concept of death always seemed to creep into my conscience. Perhaps because it seemed so foreign, so distant, so abstract. It became somewhat of a personal mission for me: to understand death. A cognitive challenge that pushed me to the edge of my rational limits and even tugged at the farthest reaches of my imagination. I thought that I could crack the code of death – its relationship with life, its insurmountable power, and the secrets it stored within – through concentrated thought and reason alone. Naively, I assumed this was an individual task, a solo mission, that I could accomplish on my own accord, with my fount of pre-pubescent wisdom as my only resource. Of course, despite my earnest reflections and consistent efforts, I failed to make much progress towards finally comprehending the unknowable: what lies beyond.
Without any grasp of death’s deeper meaning, I continued to struggle conceiving of it. It remained this shadowy, elusive, unapproachable cloud that I shuttered away from. I knew, however – no matter how hard I tried to deny it – that one day it would be forced front of mind, whether it be the death of a loved one or my own mortality. Naturally, that scared me. Coming face to face with such an unfamiliar and unfathomable concept is uncomfortable – for anyone. Hence, I tried to push it away as far as possible. I kept telling myself that it was so impossibly far away that I had no need to concern myself with it. By the time I grew into old age, I figured that we would reach a point where death itself would be obsolete, where medical technology would grant us immortality. Much of this thinking, I now realize, likely inspired my passion for health care and attracted me towards the medical profession. I believed that, as a doctor, I could fight against death itself – what I perceived to be our greatest enemy.
Thankfully, my experience over the past year has led me away from this flawed way of thinking. I no longer shy away from the notion of death or view it as our mortal enemy. Such a mindset is not only unhealthy, but incorrect. Death is not some menacing evil that simply preys on our existence or poaches our loved ones. Rather, death is what gives meaning to our lives. Much to the dismay of my boyish self, I have not unearthed the hidden truths of death or what exists on the other side. I have grown strong in my own personal faith, but I will not pretend that I know with any certainty – nobody does. Regardless, I have gained a newfound sense of comfort in grappling with death. Through the conversations, reflections, and experiences fostered by the Athena Institute, I have not only come to terms with death’s inevitability, but its value. Of course, I still champion the sacredness of life above all, which I hope to honor in my calling as a doctor. However, I now also appreciate the nuanced dimensions of palliative care and its integral role in the practice of medicine. Going forward, I hope to embody its tenets in all I do – in the clinic, but also my routine interactions with loved ones, peers, and even strangers. I remain committed to following this path well beyond the program’s conclusion. I look forward to further transforming my insights into action. This journey of growth and service need not be restrained by any end date. This is a lifelong mission of compassion and connection for those who need it most.