Death: Closing One Door to Open Another
by Dr. Santo D. Marabella, The Practical Prof®
Sunrises and sunsets. I have always been drawn to them — to paint them, photograph them and be swathed in them. For a long time, I wondered what the attraction was, and then one day, it dawned on me (sorry, couldn’t resist!). They represent beginnings and endings, neither of which I am adept at or like. I don’t like starting a task, or ending a visit with a friend; beginning a new job or ending a relationship. I want it over, and fast, so I can be in it — whatever “it” is — without the uncertainty of beginning and ending.
I learned that I especially loathe endings, particularly “death.” From the time I had nightmares about death as a young child, to the anxiety I have experienced when it has brushed against me as an adult, my relationship with death has always been troublesome. For the longest time, I would have considered it unhealthy and filled with fear.
I’m not sure where that comes from exactly. I know that I was born in an orphanage and lived there for a year, before I was adopted. From what I’ve read over the years, or discussed in therapy, that experience of “abandonment” — in this case, the loss of parental connection — can be compared to the experience of death. Even though I have no conscious memory (and who would as an infant?), I do feel a conscious impact from that abandonment. It became a disruption, at times, an obsession, in my life. I learned that it was something that needed to be worked through similarly to how one grieves. It took awhile, but with talk therapy and some sessions with EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing therapy), I did make progress in reducing my anxiety and fear around death.
Evidence of that progress came more recently, having lost both of my parents in the past 16 months — parents for whom I was the primary caregiver and with whom I lived in their final years. I am surprised at how much healthier my relationship with death has become. I know a lot of that has to do with choices I made which freed me from resentment and regret. From the care I provided or facilitated, to the wonderful celebrations of their lives with family and friends — I was and am in a much better place with their passing than I imagined I could ever be.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, I feel great sadness from losing them and I miss them dearly and constantly. What I don’t feel is that overwhelming anxiety and fear. It feels like the beginning of a new relationship with death.
So, when given the opportunity to reframe death as a positive transition, worthy of celebration, I thought about my upcoming full-time job retirement as a new “death.” For the past thirty years, I have been a college professor teaching management courses at Moravian University (formerly Moravian College). I’ve been told I don’t look old enough to retire; yet, when I say I started teaching when I was 12 years old, I also get expressions of incredulity!
That job, and my career as a full-time college prof, will die this December (2021). I decided more than a year ago that it was feasible to end my time at Moravian, and shared the news with my colleagues. Currently, they are actively seeking my replacement. For me, I’m in the midst of a year-long bittersweet journey to this “death.” I am happy to have the ability to more seriously pursue my passion for writing — books, plays, film, television; and, I am sad that I leave behind the colleagues, students and alumni who have been such a meaningful part of my life, not just my career.
I have plans to continue teaching (at Moravian), produce and create an artistic projects in TV, film and theater, and perhaps even take on a slower pace that includes occasional “sabbaticals” from work — I believe they are commonly called “vacations,” but I can’t say for sure.
I consider how to mark the milestone of this “death.” As I reflect on mistakes, growth, satisfaction and success, I want to acknowledge this death with an extended period of celebration — with myself, with friends and loved ones, with colleagues, students and alumni. I choose to celebrate because I now get that as with physical death, the death of a job means “life is changed, not ended” (St. Paul to the Corinthians), and that is certainly a reason to celebrate!
