What is Life Portrait?
Your life portrait is a detailed headshot taken in your last days. Essentially, it is your ‘Last Portrait’. You would ask why it is not then called a death portrait. Your face is your canvas, and no matter your age, the fantastic story of your life has been painted on your canvas through the setting of your lips and freckles, sculpture of your fine wrinkles, and the light and shadows of your eyes. It is as if God has illustrated your life’s experience in every feature of your face. You are a stunning work of art, and beyond that, your story wants to be heard. It is silently singing from every cell, every mitochondrion, every electrolyte, and every strand of your unique genetic material. Project Life Portrait seeks to capture your story in the camera’s frame, through the lens’ eye, to encourage and inspire yourself, your loved ones, and others you have never met.
What about Death?
It was in the Surgical Intensive Care Unit (SICU) that I worked as a nurse’s assistant, where I realized the engrossing fear of death so many people hold. Nurses, whom had unplugged bodies, resuscitated babies and grandmothers alike, and washed the frail skin of elderly men after passing, held a captivating terror of the subject that was only covered up by the increased weariness and fatigue of being understaffed and overworked. How could a critical care nurse fully take in the immense responsibility of supervising the transition of this beautiful life that once danced and sang, loved and cried, yelled and cursed into the quiet vision of death amidst the enveloping tasks of charting and administering the onslaught of medications and interventions to fellow patients? Easy, it's impossible. And without the time to spend experiencing death, it becomes unknown, and the unknown is terrifying. Yet, death is a life experience, just as birth. And it's my personal belief, that it can be as beautiful as birth. A person whom is allowed to experience their death, comes to their closest understanding possible with accepting it, and in doing so, has the opportunity to honor the life they lived and the people they journeyed with. Who are we to encourage them to fear something so natural, and so completely inevitable?
A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist. --Stewart Alsop
I remember walking past the rooms, and smelling death. It did not smell bad, just different. And sometimes death gave them a couple hours; sometimes death gave them a day. Sometimes I was wrong and it was close, but death gave them another month. I spent as much time as possible with these patients, listening mostly, and sometimes asking them about their memories, the fond and not so fond. There was one man in particular that was dying, and his daughter was there to see him. The nurse had pulled the curtain and stayed away out of respect for their limited time together. When I entered the room to check on his comfort, I found him lying on his back, softly gurgling. His eyes were gentle and peaceful, and I thought "this man is ready". The daughter had a sweet smile on her face and her eyes fell from the side of the bed across his body. She held his hand, but he could not see her from his position. The man was dying as his heart was finally failing, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, anyone could do for him. He was 96 years old, and had refused heart surgery. I turned him to his side, and stuffed pillows to support him so that he could see his daughter. He struggled a little more to breathe, but he smiled and I left the room to go use the restroom. Not three minutes later, I returned to check on him, and found him quietly gone, a loving and thankful smile still etched in his face and a tear that had not dried yet sitting on his cheek. His daughter was quiet, still sweetly smiling, and then she left the room. As I washed his body and prepared him for transport to the morgue, I felt overwhelmed with the privilege to attend such an important experience of his life.
Of course, not all death experiences are this way. Not everyone who dies is old, not everyone knows that they are dying, not everyone has someone standing beside them. But I am drawn to the life that experiences a slow death. I hope, that when it is time for me to go, whether that is sooner or later, I hope I have the blessing of knowing that I am dying so that I can say my good-byes however quietly I wish, and that I can accept my experience and experience my experience! Some never have the chance to reflect on their joys and loves, and their stories of sorrow and happiness, and more so, the small things that they remember most. My heart aches more for those, than the ones who have that opportunity and feel more pain as a consequence. To pay the fee of pain to experience your death without fear is difficult, and courageous. Not only does it offer you the chance to read the end of your chapter, it offers the same courage to those you love and those that surround you. By voluntarily fully experiencing a natural death, you give your loved ones the same courage. They will remember this most when you are gone.
It’s easier said than done. Death is difficult, across the board. It doesn’t matter what ethnicity or age a person is, it’s hard. Aside from our personal struggles with faithfully stepping out of what we know, culture also plays a part in our perspectives. Today, in a world of “live it up” mentality, and age-defying creams and lotions, it is almost taboo to speak of death. Because of this, those experiencing death, often do not receive the support they should. Back in the SICU, I cared for a 93 year old woman. She was frail and beautiful when she came in. Her organs were all shutting down, and against her wishes, her daughter pressured her into heart surgery. For over a month after the surgery, the lovely old woman tolerated tubes and wires, pain and sorrow. She would cry a lot, and when she had the energy, she told me how ready she was to go, her body and her mind were ready to let go, and that she could not wait to join her husband whom had passed ten years prior. The woman’s daughter would come into the room full of joy and optimism. She told her mother, “I know that you will be okay, because there are so many people praying for you, mom.” This troubled me. I believe in prayer. I believe in the power of prayer. But I also believe that if God willed all of us to live forever, then we would. The old woman eventually died in that hospital bed, not content and beautiful as she was when she came in, but tired and skeletal after being pressed on so strongly by her daughter. She did not have a peaceful, supportive good-bye, but instead, hurt longer tied up to ventilators, dialysis and more. It was not until she was comatose that another family member came in and took charge of implementing the old woman’s will, which was in fact, to be allowed a comfortable, natural course when it was her time. I imagine that woman felt a strong guilt for leaving behind her daughter without her support.
My intention here is not to encourage “giving up”. Instead, it is to thankfully and respectfully celebrate life. It is to capture and remember, not to avoid and disregard. It is to banish fear, and embolden faith. I want to listen to life stories, and seize them in print and photo. In this way, they can be enjoyed by loved ones, and inspire others to elatedly and trustingly enjoy the special moments in life, and the special moments in death.
Participate
Would you like to share your story of life? Would you like to offer courage and sweet memories to your friends and family? Please fill out an application to participate in Project Life Portrait. It’s completely free of charge. Applicants whom are chosen will participate in a photo/video/audio interview, and receive a digital photo life portrait on disc. Click
HERE to save and print the participant application. You are welcome to include a video or photograph with your application, but it is not required. Mail the application to 2Seven Photo, PO Box 425, Hixson TN 37343. Videos may be emailed to 2sevenphoto@gmail.com.
We cannot banish dangers, but we can banish fears. We must not demean life by standing in awe of death. --David Sarnoff
