Mind-Body

I have discussed this already, and will continue to because it is near and dear to my heart. So, all you "A Billion Subtle Thoughts" people will hear me talk about my parents over and over again. By now (or rather if you were in class Thursday) you are aware that both my parents are dead.

In these times of death I saw Descartes' dualism play out. I saw knowledge force my inert body into action. I asked questions I would have never asked. I tried to separate the mind and body to make some sense of everything. And, as Descartes said, "the end I now seek is not action but knowledge."
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When mom was sick I asked hard questions (hard for me to ask questions) and said things that were hard to say. "Why didn't you want us to come to St. Mary's the day dad died." - I didn't know he was going to leave then. I didn't want you driving in the snow. That was fair enough. Then, when mom's heart rate had dropped to the low 40's and hear blood pressure held at 40/30, and she was getting worse by the day, she was unresponsive most of the time, I went to her bed, laid my head by her pillow. I knew she was awake because she stirred ever so slightly and smiled at me, albeit weakly. I sucked in a deep breath, “Mom?” I murmured. She fluttered her eyelids, unable to open them. “I just want you to know...” I paused for a long time, letting the thought linger in my mind until it was ready to come out of my mouth. “that... it’s okay... to let go.” I breathed in the smell of death as I steeled myself against the onslaught of emotions that were ripping through my body. “You’ve fought so hard.... and I just want you to know... if you don’t want to, if you can’t... you don’t have to anymore.” Another breath of death. “We’ll all understand, if you want to let go. We love you... all of us.” She was still, silent, save a rasping from the oozing ventilator. I sat and watched her, my head next to hers, one latex gloved hand holding hers, the other gloved hand resting on her shoulder. “Are you mad at me?” She shook her head vigorously. Okay. I thought, good.

Our conversation continued and I asked her about death. She was, naturally, afraid of dying. She was not afraid of death. When I asked her why she was afraid of dying she said it was because there were so many things she still hadn't done. I imagined, then and there, if she were to live, the trips she would take, the birthdays we would celebrate, the time we would spend together, the things we would laugh at, the grandchildren she would dote on, the late night calls, the years ahead in which she would tell me she loved me and was proud of me, the stories we would share, and the mom, the woman who would be my best friend until the day she died. But in my mind I knew that none of it was possible. I wanted to know how she felt, what her fears were, why she had made the choices she had made. I wanted to know everything.

I continued to ask Mom questions, tell her in a clinically detached manner that her body was failing, and read the bible to her. Doing these things gave her peace and me knowledge. I learned that Mom believed in God more now than ever. I told her stories. I told her dreams (one in particular, she was on her death bed, we made her a feast, took her to the ocean, our dead dogs came and licked her face, then my father, as the grim reaper, came and took her away (that dream took place exactly one month before she died)). The whole time I neglected her body to feed her mind. (My sister was so much better at attending to Mom's body, washing her face, brushing her hair, something I was never good at.)

As Mom's heart beat it's last labored beats I rested my left hand on her leg and read:
Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. ^11:29Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. ^11:30For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30

I thought it a fitting passage, after all her suffering. While her body ailed, her soul would finally be at peace.
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Sorry for another tragic tale. You are probably wondering what this has to do with Descartes. There was a constant mind-body, physical-spiritual treatment with my mother. She showed vast improvements when I nourished her spirit and when supported (well) by modern medicine. I saw myself grasp for knowledge. I sought physical knowledge of the body, trying to discern what was happening, but somehow separated her mind and her body, they were not mutually exclusive (alas, I am not a nihilist). The knowledge I gained from Mom passing was vast, indescribable, but it was never enough to separate the line between mind and body, because, to me, the two are inextricably connected (here).




PS The picture above is my mom three weeks after her triple bypass heart surgery in March 2010. I came out because she wasn't recovering like she was supposed to. She was up and out of bed, walking around, two days after I arrived (when the picture was taken).