On Death

Yesterday morning my co-worker came to my office to say hi. As is customary, I asked him how his weekend was and he kind of drew a long face and said it was good and bad. He had a good time canyoneering with some scouts from another ward, led by none other than our cousin Joel Mills. After returning home, he received a call from his dad Saturday evening informing him that his grandpa (his dad’s dad) was not doing so well. At this point, I’m thinking, oh his grandpa is in the hospital now and that’s why he’s so glum. But then he concluded by saying that on Sunday, at age 94 and surrounded by his family, his grandpa died. I’ve actually met my co-worker’s grandpa before and heard so many stories about him. One of the things his grandpa did as a matter of tradition at family reunions was to offer his unintentionally melodramatic rendition of The Holy City in its entirety. (That's the really long song that goes "Jerusalem, Jerusalem....Hosanna in the highest!!") A few months ago my co-worker played me an excerpt of a recording they made and it was so great. My co-worker had a close relationship with his grandpa, including being in the same ward and same high priest group with him. So, he’s sharing this with me and I’m doing my best to fight back the tears, but I finally yielded and let the tears flow. I apologized to him, not really knowing exactly why I was crying, but in retrospect, it is clear that I was thinking about my own grandparents and relating his relationship with his grandpa to my relationship with my grandparents. Growing up in the same neighborhood as my grandparents has provided them an opportunity to actively participate in so much of my life. Losing them will feel like losing my parents.

I remember when President Hinckley died, I cried for several days for 3 reasons: First, he was my friend’s grandpa. Second, I knew that if Pres. Hinckley had to die, then so do the rest of us. And third, I thought, now Grandpa is going to die. (As an aside, I mentioned to my co-worker my fear of Grandpa dying, and he told me that he had the exact same thought about his grandpa, who was 92 at the time.) It was the first time that our grandparents’ mortality really hit home for me, and now it has happened again this week. But President Hinckley did leave us some words of comfort in his poem called What is This Thing That Men Call Death.

What is this thing that men call death?
This quiet passing in the night?
‘Tis not the end but genesis
Of better worlds and greater light
O God, touch Thou my aching heart
And calm my troubled, haunting fears
Let hope and faith, transcendent, pure
Give strength and peace beyond my tears.
There is no death, but only change
With recompense for vict’ry won
The gift of Him who loved all men
The Son of God, the Holy One.

My co-worker’s grandpa’s death was about as ideal as a death can be, I guess. He was not suffering from any diseases or other painful afflictions. He was just old. He lived a good full life and, most importantly, was surrounded by family as he peacefully passed away. Nonetheless, no matter what your beliefs and perspectives are about life after death, death is still hard for those left behind. I have no doubt that for those who die, it feels like no time has passed before we join them, but for us mortals, it can be anywhere from a day to 100 years before we see our loved ones again. That is such a raw deal and it hurts to think about it.

A few years ago I had an opportunity to talk to Grandpa Rasmussen about our philosophies of death. Sort of a weird topic to be discussing with him, but he was writing a talk for my friend’s grandma’s funeral, so it was a natural discussion to have. He told me that before my friend’s grandma died, she started having a lot of serious questions about life after death and whether she really believed everything she was taught. He was called to give her a blessing to release her from this life. Before doing so, in response to her growing fears about dying, Grandpa shared with her these beautiful and unforgettable words: “I think death is a sweet experience of exploration and new discovery.”

This is not the end of this discussion for me, but for now I go on with life, completely unprepared to deal with the deaths of my loved ones, certain that it will hurt more than I can even imagine now, but also taking great comfort in Pres. Hinckley's and Grandpa’s words and holding them close to me as those times quickly approach.