Moved to Tears: Reflecting on the Late Journalist Jack Thomas’ Essay on Dying
Jack Thomas was a journalist with the Boston Globe. A beautiful writer and observer. He even went and experienced what he wrote about: being in jail and being homeless. He died at age 83 on Oct. 3, 2022.
His obituary in the Boston Globe was linked to a piece he wrote some months ago (in the same newspaper) about how it felt to know one is dying in the near future. It is a question he had had for decades: what does knowing one is dying feel like? It is a question with which I have wrestled for decades too. And, when the essay appeared in 2021 (link is below), many readers commented.
His piece and their responses brought me to tears. Yes, he lived a full life but he wished he had just a little more time. Yes, he had many experiences and he shared some of them with his readers with humor and good will and warmth. But, he wished he had just a little more time. And, while he admits that his impending death enabled him to see things (physical objects) more clearly, he still wished he had just a little more time. And, he recites what he will miss most: the smiles and hugs of his wife and the laughter of his children. Poignant. Sad. Real.
A Myriad of Thoughts:
I am not dying. Interestingly, Mr. Thomas wrote a piece on dying while taking a writing class some years ago that was so poignant, his fellow students thought he actually WAS dying back then. (He was the oldest in the class.) He shares that story with humor in his actual piece on dying. I also got the sense he was rewriting an essay he had written long before actual death was looming.
In truth, though, we are all on a pathway to death from the moment we are born. Indeed, we deal with separation from the moment the umbilical cord is cut. But, our minds don’t let us focus (for the most part) on our life’s end; instead, we focus (for the most part) on living as best as we can as life sends us through twists and curves that often are hard to navigate.
I lost my husband two years ago; he died from Alzheimer’s disease. One of the tragedies of this illness is the affected individual loses his/her capacity to think and reflect as he/she did and so he/she cannot write the kind of essay that Mr. Thomas wrote. My late husband was a wonderful writer and editor. He would have had a lot to say about losing his mind and impending death but at the moment the essay would have mattered, his mind was too lost for him to write about it — ever.
Recently, I lost a close friend. She died way way too soon. She died close to Memorial Day 2022. I think of her often. I have lost other friends over the years — my closest college friend and my closest professional colleague. When I shared these deaths recently with a man who proclaimed himself an active listener and compassionate soul, he responded: “You need to get better friends.” I suppose he was joking or trying to make light of darkness but his humor angered me and left me feeling that it is a good thing his work as a physician doesn’t regularly involve dealing with individuals facing life and death issues. And whatever essay this physician would write on his own thoughts on dying, I suspect they would have had humor but not heart. Thomas’ essay had both, and the humor wasn’t hurtful.
I work as an educator who specializes in trauma. One of the standard suggestions to help students write well is to have them write their own obituary. I cannot think of a worse exercise. What an idea. I would rather students write about what their future could be, how hope springs forth even in hard times and how a sense of wonder can last a lifetime. Writing an obituary? Please. And I read obituaries regularly, something I have written about at length.
I have read many books about how one deals with the death of another. These books are poignant. They reflect on grief and grieving (not the same). This is a topic with which I have more than passing familiarity including a relationship with a man who could not get over the grief he felt over his late wife, a grief that made moving forward only wishful thinking (generally and with me in particular) and not a reality.
It is the rarer book that writes well about death from a personal perspective of the person dying before it happens. Perhaps Frank Bruni’s new book is the closest thing I have read recently — in addition to Jack Thomas’ essay from 2021. And, Bruni’s book is well written and poignant. He urges readers to continue forward even as the light dims (literally for him too).
When people die, I often say: they were too young to die. I say this regardless of the age of the person dying. Perhaps it is my way of saying, as I age, that I am not ready to die and do not want to die. I get that it will happen. It always does. There are many ways in which it could happen, some worse than others.
But, I want more time. I have much left to do. I still have love to give and receive; I have people to help and comfort. I have books to be written and art to be created. I have hopes of improving the world — even just a little (but hopefully more than a little). As Mr. Thomas was actually dying, he too wanted more time.
Even in hard times, I think that if we knew we were dying, most of us would still want more time. So, for me, Mr. Thomas’ essay and then his death are reminders that there is lots still to appreciate and enjoy and savor in life, even in hard times and in time’s march forward. And, we would be wise to have hope and work to make the world a better place before we leave it. Small steps matter. They matter a lot.
A man I knew worried that he would be forgotten in death as would his late wife. I don’t worry about being forgotten. I worry about not living fully and with joy and with wonder and a sense of purpose and a sense of doing good for many. I worry about making sure my life has meaning. Jack Thomas’ essay reminds me of that.
For most of us, there is a desire to keep living. As Jack Thomas said, he just wanted more time. Would that we could all use that time as well as he did.
