Every death puts humans in the presence of mystery. We are here one moment, alive with the breath of life. And then we are gone.
But we also live on – through our children, through the memories of others, and in the heart of the living God.
Many faith traditions encourage us to meditate on death. This is intended to put the events of daily life into a larger context, help us get another perspective, remember the kind of life we truly want to live and then make the kind of choices that serve that purpose.
Recently, my life has held many reminders of death. Three much-loved RNDMs have departed this earth, and their individual and collective passage has left large gaps where they once stood.
In addition, my brother Laur (Lawrence Joseph Dunne) also recently “journeyed to the west” (as Indigenous persons say). Laur took his last breath on May 21 in Regina, in the same hospital in which he had been born.
I had the opportunity of spending time with Laur for several days at the beginning of April and the beginning of May. They were days of learning more about death, his death in particular, and experiencing the possibilities such numinous moments sometimes offer.
In the days after learning that he had untreatable stage IV lung cancer Laur spoke about how he wanted to proceed. He said he wasn’t afraid to die and while he wanted to live longer, he acknowledged that “I’ve had a good run”. He declared that he knew he would go to heaven when he died, and that he had been a good man. My brother was a flawed and fabulous human being, as am I, and as he set out those markers, I felt a great surge of tenderness towards him, and could only agree with everything he said.
Laur had deep blue eyes. Eyes that held worlds within them. One day, in order to better hear what he was saying, I sat on his bed, and looked into those blue eyes, as we spoke about dying. I asked him how he felt about death. He looked straight at me and sang:
“And when I die, and when I’m gone, There’ll be one child born In this world to carry on, to carry on”.
In these words of the old Blood, Sweat & Tears song, that came so quickly to his lips, I heard my brother’s act of faith in life beyond death.
Laur was known for his quick wit and sense of humour. As he took in the fact of his death, he also showed some of the “less obvious” parts of his personality. The more reflective, philosophical, and poetic parts.
Together we imagined his life as a race, and Laur as a long distant runner. He believed that those he loved who had preceded him in death would be there, cheering him on, as he crossed the finish line. And our parents and deceased siblings Tom and Mary, would be among those waiting for him at the finish line, and would reach out and help haul him over.
I am the eldest of five siblings, Laur is the middle child. Tom (second born) and Mary (fourth born) have both died. One day Laur said “if I die, there will only be you and Pat left – the oldest and the youngest”. I acknowledged that this would be so. Then he said: “The edges of the bow of our lives.” The power of his image astonished me then, and inspires me each time I remember.
As Laur was facing death, I saw parts of him I had not previously seen.
Or perhaps he now felt free to show these aspects of himself.
It was as if, in our mutual vulnerability at this liminal time of his dying, we were able to discover new relational territory and enter together. Words spoken on the breath and carried on the breath to new inner spaces, even now when my brother’s breath is gone.
Veronica Dunne is a Sister of our Lady of the Missions (RNDM), who has primarily worked as an educator and counsellor in institutional and community based settings in Canada. She has also served with the RNDMs outside of Canada in Senegal, Peru, and Aotearoa New Zealand.
A 2002 Doctor of Ministry graduate from the University of St. Michael’s College, Toronto School of Theology at the University of Toronto, she subsequently served as director of the Doctor of Ministry program at St. Stephen’s College at the University of Alberta in Edmonton. Her current research interests are in eco-theology and cosmology, and their intersections with indigenous cosmologies and spiritualties.
She presently serves on the RNDM leadership team in Canada.
Oh Veronica, what a spectacular exposition of death and its many facets, like the cuts of a diamond. Your brother was a philosopher in his own right. Thank you so much for sharing him with us readers. Death stories help to bring new meaning to life and its full cycle.
Thanks, Veronica, for this powerful reflection on the mystery of death – indeed of life and death – with its first breath and last…. and the particular bond that exists amongst siblings. I loved the image of the bow. In December my older sister, Bernadette died unexpectedly while in care for a debilitating illness. Now my eldest sister in USA has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. We feel the tension in the bow as she lives whatever remains of her life in the sure knowledge of life hereafter.
Thank you, Veronica, for sharing these tender moments with Laur and your reflection on the precious gift of “the breath of life.” So poignant. The image of your family “bow” will stay with me!