A Dignified Death

Today, the gates of Heaven were opened for Pope John Paul II. His was a remarkable life, and an equally remarkable death. When we speak of 'death with dignity', this is the example that we should look to. John Paul did not hurry toward his death, rushing to embrace it, nor did he shirk or cower from it. The Pope instead accepted death when it came, walking with it, embracing it, while still savoring every last ounce of life while he had breath.
The Holy Father has walked with death for some time. He met it in passing in his youth, losing his Mother just one month before his 9th birthday, his elder brother at the age of 12, and his Father at 21. He lived under both Nazi and Communist rule and no doubt came to know death as at least a passing acquaintance. Death also came calling in 1981, by way of an assassin's bullet. By this time, the Pope was probably on a first name basis with death, but this time it was just a visit, and the Pontiff endured.
With the onset of Parkinson's Disease, death started to become a more constant companion, trailing far behind at first, but coming closer with each step. These past few years, John Paul and death could be seen walking, side by side, in constant conversation with each other. But the Pope had other responsibilities, and the presence of death by his side would not keep him from them. His travel may be curtailed, he may have found it difficult to walk, or, at times, even to speak, but still, he walked on. I am reminded of a line from The Princess Bride, "Life is pain. Anyone that tries to tell you differently is selling you something." The pope, however, was not buying. There was pain, certainly, and suffering, but this man bore his cross with dignity.
This year, however, John Paul's health took a turn for the worse. He contracted the flu, which caused him to have difficulty breathing. Rather than succumb, he allowed a tracheotomy to be performed, so that his lungs could take in enough air. Then his illness caused him to to have trouble eating, so he had a feeding tube inserted into his nose so that he received enough nourishment. He did not feel that these things were undignified. They were necessary to allow him to go on with his mission. As long as his lungs had breath, and his heart had strength, his life had purpose and meaning, and it was that he would embrace, not death, which was now his constant companion.
As ill as he was, Ester Sunday, he appeared at his window, and again on Wednesday, when he traditionally greeted the masses in St. Peter's Square. This is one of those pictures of him that I will remember, embracing life with what little strength he had left. In the end, though, there was no treatment for him. A urinary tract infection put him into septic shock. Antibiotics were prescribed, but they proved unequal to the task. In the hours before his death, though, he continued to receive visitors, living his life as best he could. In the end, though, death took him by the arm, and took him the few short steps to Heaven's Gate. Thus, Pope John Paul II passed from this world to the next, straight and erect and, yes, dignified.
The next time that you hear someone say that they wish to 'die with dignity', remember the way that this Pope carried himself in the face of death, and see if it measures up.
Good-night, Karol Wojtyla. Godspeed.