Beating the Death Sentence

[Jesus] suffered under Pontius Pilate,was crucified, died and was buried;

he descended into hell;

on the third day he rose again from the dead;

he ascended into heaven . . .

from the Apostle’s Creed

A close friend died recently from Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). Onset was insidious. Symptoms peeked through the veil of good health in the memorable year 2020 when medical care was limited to treatment for serious COVID-19.

His leg gave out causing a fall from the ladder with a diagnosis of bruised kidney. How does a bruised kidney cause weakness in the legs, we wondered, as his strength declined in the ensuing weeks? Misdirections, overwhelmed doctors retiring early, vague questions, insufficient answers, and counterproductive treatment took up two years of time before an accurate diagnosis was made, long after many of us suspected ALS. The body refused to wait, crippling piece by piece. The brain intact. When I worked in health care, I called ALS one of the “icky diseases.” Ickier than Parkinson’s, which is pretty icky.

I recall reciting the Apostle’s Creed each Sunday in my childhood Methodist church. On special Sundays, whatever they were, the music the only thing of interest to me, the Nicean Creed replaced the shorter Apostolic Creed. I dreaded it: long and boring. Our church dwelt little on heaven and hell, the word “hell” considered a profanity. Good old John Wesley believed in good works, and good works we were urged to do. Our creed did not send Jesus to Hell or to the dead, as some versions recite, to hang out before the doors of Heaven opened, as if St. Peter was unaware royalty was coming.

I don’t recall where I was the first time I confidently declared his resurrection while everyone around me chanted his descent to hell. I remember being startled. They said “hell” in church?! When my friend died, it occurred to me he and his family had been through five years of hell. He deserved a pass.

Our friend beat the death sentence. Not his body, but his spirit. Just over two hours before his body gave up the ghost, he responded to our conversation with the hint of a smile, a barely perceived movement of the head to deny pain, and an attempt to communicate with us, his voice soundless, his articulation slack. He was still our friend, Mr. Positive, the Other Dear, refusing to let Death defeat his spirit. His spirit drifted towards the pearly gates hopefully nonstop, leaving a smile on his face.

I followed up with his wife the next day. Tired. She looked tired. But there was an element of relief, not for herself now free of endless chores but for her husband who no longer suffered. During these nearly five years, along with other friends, we remained close. Initially they were able to continue socializing, going out to dinner, playing games, visiting over wine in the backyard. In the latter days, we dropped by the house for short visits, a kiss, a few minutes watching sports. We advised his wife on the intricacies of the health care system, encouraging her, listening when she needed to talk, dropping off food. With help from the Veterans Association and hospice, she cared for her husband at home for the duration. There were no complaints, only sorrow that her partner in life had suffered too much and would not return. She refused to let Death defeat her spirit.

Another good friend died just six weeks earlier. In my age group, death is frequent. My own is imminent—Life’s last big surprise. There is still much I want to do but lack the energy and the cognitive processing. The decline of the body is slower than my friend with ALS, but I am observing the decline of the brain. What is my best friend’s name? Give me a moment and it will come to me. At a trivia party I recalled Clement C. Moore as the author of The Night Before Christmas. Really, do I need to know that? There was no prize for the trivia question. Meanwhile, I insulted a good friend.

In a book whose title and plot I don’t recall, a dying character (he, she? I don’t remember) tells the surviving spouse to live life for him/her. Do the things he/she never had a chance to do. Life is a miracle. Our chances of being human on this planet in this universe are miniscule. Live with a smile. That is how we defeat death, hopefully bypassing hell in the process.