Expiration Date

By Abby Lutz?

Since childhood, I remember thinking that I am going to die when I’m 51. When I tell people this, almost invariably, the reaction is, “Oh, of course you’re not going to die at 51! That’s crazy, don't be so morbid.” But I choose to look at this as a gift.?

While working in a Level 1 trauma ICU five nights a week for a year during the covid pandemic, I cared for a patient who really left an impression on me. A brilliant man and physician, who had fallen while rock climbing, and was completely paralyzed from the neck down. But he was as mentally as present as ever. We’d talk candidly and openly about how he wished his wife hadn’t had him resuscitated. He’d joke about me taking him swimming. Though he had not yet experienced his permanent physical death, he was living the death of the life he once knew. Once the caregiver and provider, he was now totally dependent on others. On Christmas night, I was assisting with his bath, and was positioned just in front of his face. As we were talking, he said, “What the hell did you eat?!? Spicy meatballs?” Apparently my night shift Christmas buffet breath was rancid. After adding stinky meatballs to the “Trauma ICU Christmas Card” (a digital drawing I’d had everyone in the ICU contribute to) that I’d started and asked if he wanted to add to, he told me I needed to get a life. Having been there for weeks, and seeing me 5 out of 7 nights for all of those, he knew all I was doing at the time was working. I promised him that I would get a life, and I’ve been working ever since I left that job to fulfill that promise not only to him, but to myself.?

“Getting a life” has been doing things, going places, and having experiences that I had once only dreamt about. Colleagues at the hospital encouraged me to get involved with end-of-life care, and “alternative” or integrative/holistic medicine became of great interest, witnessing firsthand the shortcomings of modern, Westernized medicine. So I became certified as a Death Doula, though I’d been doing the work of a doula for nearly 20 years. Dying with people, in many ways, was home to me. Another thing I came to really enjoy is going to conferences and learning about things that ignite me, talking and connecting with others with who share my interests and align with my values. Building community.

One such conference was Psychedelic Science 2023, hosted by MAPS (Multdiscipliary Association for Psychedelic Studies). Though I never had the pleasure of knowing him personally, Dr. Roland Griffiths had a great impact on me. For whatever reason, listening to him speak about meditation and gratitude really resonated, and led me to daily, if not constant, practicing of both. His work with terminal patients has also been very influential. When I learned of his cancer diagnosis, my feeling was one of awe. What a beautiful gift, wrapped in the outward sorrow or discomfort of others, to actually live, first-hand, his life’s work? What a precious thing to be able to live his values and display this to others. To know, and be able to turn consciously towards, the wonder and mystery of his own death.?

Dr. Griffiths, with a public platform available, was able to articulate my felt knowledge about life and death, and disseminate that knowledge out to the masses, at least for those who have ears to hear. That the closer we are to physical death, the more alive one can feel. The less connected we are to our physical bodies, the more connected we become to our true selves. What a beautiful, though at times exquisitely uncomfortable and fleeting existence we have in these bodies. What being aware, awake, and alive truly means.

I sat in the audience, deeply listening to Dr. Griffiths speak. I felt the process he was going through- loss of his mental and physical faculties, and a mourning of a life he once knew. He was, in a sense, able to grieve his physical death with his community before it became permanent, because he had the courage to face it, not turn away from it. His life and death are also a great example of how death is, and should be, a community process. Everyone coming together to honor, celebrate, and remember the gift of a magical human. To acknowledge our grief, but also to hold immense gratitude and all other emotions at the same time. To truly appreciate the joy of being alive. To remain, as he said, “intensely curious” about what this all means, if anything. To share his cancer with his wife, Marla, who I’m sure has had quite the experience with this, as well. Sometimes during meditation, I would visualize Dr. Griffiths as he died, Marla holding his hand and together making the transition. In my mind, Marla was his Death Doula. Gracefully guiding him, in peace and awareness, forward and up. Beautifully and easily, light and free.?

I cannot mourn his death, I didn’t know him personally to do so. Nor do I feel he would want us to. Instead, I feel a sense of gratitude. Gratitude for gratitude’s sake, that his words echoed in my head and heart to practice daily. Honoring and mirroring, in my own life, his commitment to remain “intensely curious” about this wonderful mystery we all find ourselves a part of. Appreciating every single moment.?

There’s less than 10 years left before I turn 51. While it’s a bit different than a tangible terminal diagnosis, this potential expiration date has been such a gift. Whether or not it will happen is unknown, but the benefits of turning towards my mortality are known and felt. With a nudge from someone I’ll never forget, and validation from someone the world will never forget, this has allowed me to live more fully than I’d ever imagined. To take risks, chances, do things that scare me, and watch the wonder unfold. To get out of my own way and watch the universe work for me, not against me. To see, expect, and support the same for others. To more fully experience the time, however long that may be, that we have left here. To be grateful for every moment. To marvel at the human condition. And to lean into this “astonishing mystery.”

For Scott, who told me to get a life, and Roland Griffiths, who taught us how to truly live it. And death, for all three are remarkable teachers.?