December 10, 2017

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.