Kent Hawley
was born in a small conservative town in eastern Wisconsin, with about 800
people. He went to University of
Wisconsin, and married a fellow badger from a big town in Illinois, compared to
his town. Her hometown had 1800
people. Small town, big hearted people.
He ended up working in higher education administration, and she went to
seminary. She never went into ministry,
choosing to stay home with three young children. Their fourth child was born
when the whole family was in Kabul, with a 5-year assignment where he was
setting up the American University in Afghanistan. Ten years later, when he was dean at Lewis
and Clark, he and his wife took their 4 children and 25 college students to
Afghanistan for a six-month trip.
The family
relocated to Iowa from Portland to be near their aging parents. Kent served as
dean at a small liberal arts school in Waverly, where they remained for 40
years. Kent was an adventurous, loving,
organized, academic, small town guy.
Move to
Oregon
In 2014,
they decided to sell their home and move into an assisted living unit. Shortly after moving in, Kent’s physical
health was mysteriously declining, and his wife was showing signs of memory
loss. After months of undiagnosed
illness, it was determined that Kent had colon cancer, and underwent
surgery. Unfortunately, his wife’s
memory had declined to the point that she could not stay in the assisted living
unit without his constant love, attention and prompting, so she was moved to a
memory care unit. Even when he returned from the hospital, they could not be
together, due to his tenuous health.
During this period, his children would go to Iowa from their various
homes – San Francisco, Africa, and Eugene.
To check…….
In April
2016, they jumped at the chance to move in with us in Eugene. We would hire a
care giver for the majority of the hours we were at work, and they could again
be together after over 60 years of marriage, with support from us and the
caregiver.
When he
came, Kent was pale, weak, and in a wheel chair. With a consistent caregiver
they really liked, they got out daily, walking the University Campus, and
regular trips for ice cream. Kent joined Rotary, and they were regulars at
First United Methodist Church. He got a
pedometer for Christmas and daily regaled me with his miles walked, which got
up to 3 miles. They lived well, and were so happy to be together.
During this
time however, his cancer spread, and he was diagnosed with stage 4 liver
cancer, in August 2017. After an
unsuccessful attempt at chemo, he opted to stop treatment and enter hospice. At
this time, they also moved into a facility that had progressive memory care
options, as his health had declined to the point he was not able to assist with
care of his wife, whose memory continued to decline. Shortly after that, he started the process
for death with dignity.
Process
Oregon is
only one of five states with legalized “assisted suicide”. Although it’s legal,
it’s not widely used, nor widely accepted. Several doctors are not comfortable
participating, and I’m grateful for nonprofit End of Life Choices Oregon, which
has volunteer companions and physicians, both of which we used.
The process
required three physician consults. The first physician needed to confirm that
Kent’s diagnosis was terminal, that he was of sound mind, and wanted to pursue
the death with dignity option. A second physician needed to again affirm he was
of sound mind, and wanted to pursue death with dignity and was not being
coerced. After both of these physician consults, there was a 15-day waiting
period, before the medicine could be ordered.
Undaunted by
consults or waiting periods, Kent continued.
After the requisite 15 day wait, we ordered the medicine from a pharmacy
in Tualatin, which is frequently used by the End of Life Care Oregon. The medicine was $500, with another $150
charge for the courier, who delivered it to our door.
I vividly
remember the day the courier rang the doorbell, and left a small brown box on
our porch. I picked it up and brought it inside. It sat on the kitchen counter.
For a few weeks. It turns out that the
vast majority of people who order the medicine for death with dignity do not
actually use it. For some, their health declined to the point they were unable
to drink the mixed medicine, others died before using it, and others simply
wanted the assurance that the choice was theirs.
After
receiving the medicine, Kent had a minor stroke. He knew that a serious stroke
could render him bedridden in the room with his wife, unable to take this step.
Since July, his children and grandchildren had been coming to Oregon to bid
their farewells. In early October, we
had three family members staying at our house for the weekend. I came home from church, and was told that
Kent had decided that the next day, Monday, October 9, was the day. The care facility where they were staying
would not accommodate this legal but very controversial choice, so Monday,
October 9 was the day, when he would be returning to my home, one last
time.
We called
our grown daughter in Seattle who had been planning to come for her good byes
the following weekend, and given Kent’s plans, she changed hers, hopped in a
car and was in Eugene with her three kids by supper. We farmed guests out to
gracious neighbors who’d offered their guest rooms, and prepared for the next
day.
I called my
week-day boss, and explained what was happening, although I couldn’t figure out
how to say it. Hi, I need to be out of
the office tomorrow afternoon, because I’ve got a house full of 9 family
guests, and my father-in-law is coming over, for the last time. Luckily, I’d
talked with him about it before, so I didn’t have to go into great details at
that time. In an earlier conversation,
he’d asked me if I was ok with this. I
answered that I was absolutely ok, philosophically and theoretically, but that
the logistical, practical stuff – that was hard.
I am a
deacon, and in my tradition, I serve. I tend the sick, comfort the afflicted,
welcome the stranger, I set the table, when we have Eucharist, and I commend
people to go to love and serve the lord at the end of the service. I did not
know how to welcome this wonderful man in, and help him. I mean, I did, and I figured it out, but it
was pretty weird. That Sunday night,
sleep was illusive for most of us.
In addition
to kids, grandkids and great grandkids, we welcomed two volunteers from End of
Life Care Oregon, and two addition friends, who’d befriended Kent and his wife
during their 18 months stay in Eugene. The volunteers were wonderful, answering
questions and explaining what was going to happen. We were cognitively as prepared as we could
be.
My husband
picked up his parents, and when they entered my kitchen, Kent was again in a
wheelchair and pale, as he had been when he initially entered our home. With a
weak but solid grin, he looked around, and exclaimed, “It looks like you’re
having a party”. Yes, Kent, we’re having a party for you. He smiled.
The
volunteers explained what needed to happen. He’d be given two pills, an
anti-anxiety and an anti-nausea medicine.
After taking these, he had to wait about an hour. At that time, the
powder medicine would be added to 4 ounces of clear liquid, and given to Kent.
They explained he had about 2 minutes to drink 4 ounces, that he didn’t have to
rush, but couldn’t take too long either. They explained that it was reported
that the medicine is bitter, so they’d offer a straw, to try to bypass some of
the bitterness in his mouth. They’d also
offer a second glass of apple juice to drink to clear his palate. Impishly, Kent scoffed, and exclaimed that no
one told him it was going to be bitter.
We all sat
and stood around the kitchen. Kent took the first two pills. Waiting that hour
felt a little awkward, but Kent shared stories, and imparted encouraging words
for kids and grandkids. One of his daughters who was overseas at the time sent
a very moving email which the other daughter read. She was able to write in her
email all of the wonderful things you frequently hear at eulogies. And we all
got to hear it, including Kent. His wife
was sitting next to him, enjoying the company, and then realizing again and
again why we were all there. In those moments, her grief was palpable, but
luckily, it was also fleeting.
After an
hour, we moved Kent’s party to the living room.
Kent settled
into a recliner, and the rest of the party gathered around. A family friend and
priest led a brief service of last rites.
“That it may
please you to grant him a place of refreshment
and
everlasting blessedness. That it may please you to give him joy and gladness in
your kingdom, with your saints in light. Hear us good Lord”
After this,
we were all invited to put our hand on him somewhere, and offer a
blessing. Kent’s friends, children and
grandchildren all offered blessings on him, crouched around him. Everyone was touched.
The
volunteers returned with two small glasses of apple juice, one with a
straw. It was nice that they’d already
gone through the details, so this was not a moment of instruction. Kent took the glass with the straw from the
volunteer, and before she had a chance to hand him the second glass, he’d
downed the first. No hesitation. No
drama.
He leaned
back in the recliner, put his feet up, and folded his hands in his lap. We started to sing. We sang, “You are my sunshine”, a song they
had sang to all of their kids, who’d sung it to all their kids, who were
singing it now to their kids. After the
two verses everyone knew, we mumbled through one more. After three verses, we spontaneously started
singing to Amazing Grace. His wife was
singing with vigor and life, so much happiness that it almost felt awkward.
Because he was reclined, he was behind her, so she couldn’t see what was
happening, and wasn’t fully tracking what was happening. But after three joyful robust verses of
Amazing Grace, Kent left this world, being sung out, led by his wife’s
beautiful and happy voice. Couldn’t have
been more appropriate.
In total, it
was probably 6 minutes between Kent’s death, and his taking the medicine, or
the potion as he had taken to calling it.
His eyes fluttered once during that time, and the color drained from his
face, but otherwise, it was peaceful, beautiful, and in fact, fully of
dignity.
I have a
friend who said I’ll be working on this and processing this for a long time.
I’m certain she’s right. I think everyone who was there will be, and the
processing will be based on what we brought to the room that day.
My oldest
daughter, Kent’s oldest grandchild is a nurse’s assistant. She works in a care facility, and explained
she’d performed over 50 post-mortems, where the body is washed and prepared
after death. In her facility, as in many, death is drawn out, painful, and
alone. When she said this, I wept,
grateful for all of the underpaid staff who perform this wonder-full, holy
work, for someone’s mother, father, brother, sister, child. Immediately after
sharing this day, she shared with her Gen X friends, that she’d watched her
grandfather take his life. She shared
that was proud of him, and grateful that this option was possible in
Oregon. This is all true, and she still
saw her grandfather take his life.
My husband
spent the past 18 months being the primary familial coordinator and caretaker
for his mom and dad, being the only sibling in Eugene. His time was filled to the brim with filling
and managing 30+ prescriptions, bills, and anti-slip mats in the bathroom. And he’s very good at it, we are very good at
house management and caretaking. This chapter in the life of his parents became
another task to accomplish, or another need to be met. And he was proud of his
dad for the way he lived his life, and the way he chose to die. I’m not
suggesting he was calloused, or mechanical about it. Rather, he was a loving son who supported his
dad.
My son and
his girlfriend had come in to town to bid their farewells, not knowing this
would be the final weekend. When Kent’s
plans changed, they changed their flights to stay longer. They were both
impressed with Kent’s calm determination, and with the loving environment we
were all able to create. Kent cracked a few jokes at just the right time, to
ease what could have been a hard time.
My son pointed out that when Kent was alive, he knew he was surround by
love and family. Once he’d died, it was no longer grandpa. His spirit was gone.
My youngest
daughter who’s 20, Kent’s youngest grandchild was living at home. I was very
happy she was with us that day. As we surrounded
Kent in the living room, she was openly weeping. Days after, she shared her experience.
Nearing the time of Kent’s death, she saw a bright light over the fireplace.
Kent got up from the chair and looked at her, not knowing what to do. She motioned to the light. He went around the room, touched each of us,
and went into the light, and then his body died.
After Kent’s
death, I heard from many people about their death stories, or about their
thoughts of Death with Dignity. Some
argued that we humans can’t possibly do better than God’s providence. God’s
timing is the right timing. Others relayed strict church tenants against taking
a human life. I’ve also done some additional research about the topic, feeding
my overly functioning left brain, logical to a fault.
Oregon is
one of five states allowing Death with Dignity. There’ve been some very
high-profile cases that have kick started the national conversation, church
positions, and ultimately state elections, including Jack Kevorkian, Karen Ann
Quinlan, Terri Schiavo. Each story is different, and each has components that
make me think.
My faith
tradition adopted a resolution opposing the taking of another life, that all
decisions should be informed by the larger arc of the preservation of life. But as a denomination whose theology is based
on the “via media” or middle way, they have also said that each case is
different, and there are some cases that stand beyond judgment. The UUs are
only one of two faiths that denominationally support the right to
self-determination in dying.
This leads
me to me, and my reflections. I absolutely supported Kent’s wishes. There were
lots of reasons why this was right for him. His health deteriorated so quickly,
and he was certainly facing death within a few weeks anyway. He was in a room
with his wife, who’d be both devastated, and possibly at a loss of what to do,
had he died at their assisted living unit. He managed and planned his life. He
wanted to manage and plan his death. While I understand and support him having
those reasons, that’s different than those being my reasons. I can’t stand here
and tell you that because his health deteriorated, it was his life, or he was
concerned for his wife, are good reasons for Death with Dignity. But I can say that they were his reasons, and
I support his right to choose.
Some argue
that because it’s legal, it must be ok.
This I systematically reject, because there are plenty of things we have
seen in this country that are legal, but not ok, including slavery, redlining,
capital punishment.
I also
struggle with the sanctity of life overall.
I absolutely believe we are God’s beloved, and that we cannot possibly
do better than what God has in store. Our choices are not better than God’s. Having said that, Kent had quadruple bypass
about 20 years ago. Isn’t that also
messing with God’s providence?
I believe
this was a choice that in the end, is intimately and ultimately between Kent
and God. And as a person of deep faith, Kent made his decisions grounded in his
faith and relationship with God.
About that
idea of providence. It’s possible that God’s plan for life includes all of the
people God puts in our life. In Kent’s world, God’s plan for Kent included the
doctors who performed the heart surgery, and the doctors who prescribed the
potion. That’s all part of God’s
providence.
All I can
say at this point in my processing is that I’m honored to have been a part of
his life - and death - well lived.
