Toward the journey's end

 

    Each life is unique, and so is each death. We are distinct in both existence and departure. Different illnesses lead to different endings, yet even the same illness manifests uniquely in each individual. While many of us aspire to a "good death," it is improbable that we will pass away as we envisioned. Life rarely grants all our wishes, and an easy death is often among the unfulfilled. Ultimately, we cannot predict how our end will unfold. Even suicides do not always go as planned.

    Throughout life, we experience both joy and sorrow, but the process of dying is often marked solely by sadness. Death may or may not be preceded by prolonged suffering, making the hope for a painless passing an uncertain expectation rather than a guarantee. Even in sudden death, the realization of life's end brings not just pain and sorrow but also unresolved conflicts, unfulfilled promises, and lingering regrets. Most of all, it confronts us with the years that might have been but will never be.

    Perhaps a "good death" is possible, but the process of dying is rarely, if ever, good. The nature of our final illness shapes the atmosphere in which we take our leave. In the past, death was often a moment of communion with loved ones, a time for reflection, and, for many, a preparation for another life beyond this one. Today, fewer people seek solace in religion at the time of death. Nevertheless, some agnostics and even atheists find themselves drawn to faith when the end is near. The tragic hero Policarpo Quaresma, from Lima Barreto's novel, declared, "I will open the road to heaven even if it has to be with bullets." For many, the belief in an afterlife provides comfort. Pope John Paul II, sensing his time had come, said, "Let me go to the house of the Father."

    When facing death—our own or that of a loved one—we must recognize that not all circumstances allow for choices, even with the best medical knowledge available. We must permit those we love to die when their time arrives, without burdening ourselves with guilt for not prolonging life at any cost. Our existence is finite, and our departure is inevitable. Still, we hope to leave behind good memories and a meaningful legacy. Some find solace in knowing they have fulfilled their purpose. In this sense, dignity in death is not about the moment of dying but about the dignity with which life was lived.

    We must accept that our lifespan is limited for the survival of the species. We die so that others may live; our death is, paradoxically, a triumph of life's continuity. True dignity lies in facing death with altruism. Achieving this serenity is not easy, but our brief passage on Earth should be purposeful and fulfilling. As the Brazilian writer Guimarães Rosa observed, "Living is dangerous... because it is in learning to live that we truly experience life. A perilous crossing, but life’s crossing nonetheless."

    Philosopher Norberto Bobbio once reflected, "Before birth, I was not, and after death, I will not be... Will I?" The certainty of nonexistence is unknowable, but we do know that in death, we lose not only our physical form but also the life we have lived. Thus, the classic idea of dying with dignity may need reconsideration. Rather than seeking dignity at the moment of death, we should strive to embody it throughout our lives. Perhaps, as Nuland suggested, even our unrealized dreams can bring a form of contentment, for only those long dead have no more promises to keep or roads left to travel.