Death, Dylan and a cat named Oscar

Jeremy Suisted asks what Oscar the cat can teach us about dealing with death, and living with life.

In a rest-home in Rhode Island, there is a cat. In of itself, that is nothing too exciting, but this cat—Oscar—has a gift that almost seems unbelievable. He purrs, miaows, gets hairballs (presumably) and enjoys sleeping by the fire. But Oscar the cat also has the uncanny ability that seems straight out of a Stephen King novel.

Oscar can sense death.

Adopted as a kitten from an animal shelter, Oscar grew up in the dementia unit at the Steere House Nursing and Rehabilitation Centre, an aged-care home that describes itself as ‘pet friendly’.

But the staff and doctors noticed that Oscar would make his own rounds, sniffing and observing patients, before curling up and sleeping next to one. Within a few hours, that patient would pass away, and Oscar would get up and leave.

Within the first four years, Oscar had accurately predicted 50 patients’ deaths, with few false calls in the mix. Several different experts have weighed in on how Oscar is able to sense death; with some suggesting it is an ability to smell a death-chemical that humans have not observed yet. Regardless of how, whenever Oscar is discovered sleeping with a patient, the staff now calls the family and encourages them to come and be with their loved one.

Rage against the dying of the light

So, what would you do if you awoke tomorrow to discover Oscar at your door? How would you respond to the news of your impending end? A scratch, a pitiful miaow—and suddenly your mortality is staring you down. What would be your response?

This question is one that we love to ask each other when we’re sitting around a campfire or trying to really get to know someone. We ask, ‘What would you do if you only had a year to live? A month? A week? A day?’ Suddenly, the air fills with places to see, activities to try and relationships to foster. When this question is asked, we get a glimpse into our own priorities, values, passions and dreams that we hold dear for this life.

Underneath all this, however, is a deeper belief. When faced with our own mortality, our response is to cram as much of life in as possible. We decide that we will live ‘Life Squared’—with everything in life dialled up to 11. Adventure, exploration, experiences and sensory pleasure—we pursue them, because deep down we believe that death is the end of all that is good about life. With this belief firmly in mind, we seek to get as much of the ‘good’ as we can —similar to a child at a buffet restaurant, being told that they are leaving in five minutes.

The finality of death—and the end of all goodness—can be seen in Dylan Thomas’ famous poem to his dying father. He urges his father to carry on living, pleading, ‘Do not go gentle into that good night, old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’ More than a lament at the loss of his father, this poem is a reflection of the zeitgeist of the 21st century. Death is something to be shunned, ignored—and when it sneaks into our lives, it is something to be raged against.

The dead centre of town

For much of human history, however, death was a far more central aspect of life. With disease, war, famine and ineffective healthcare, death was almost an everyday experience.

In the Middle Ages, time was measured in Saint’s days, which commemorated the days when spiritual leaders had died. Traditionally, the centre of each village in Europe was defined by the church, which was surrounded by a graveyard of community members who had gone before the living members. Instead of death being seen as the end of life and something to fight against, death was seen as a part of life that shaped the way humanity lived. In fact, according to much medieval theology, the very purpose of life was to prepare for death and what followed.

With death as an ever-present reality, the focus of many churches was on Christ as the one who tasted death on our behalf. Ecclesial art shows Christ’s death and resurrection as a centre point to the faith community, often surrounded by Jesus’ proclamation—‘I am the resurrection and the life!’ Similarly, the comfort of Paul’s writing is almost palpable: ‘Now if we died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him’ (Romans 6:8). With death on the doorstep, the comfort of the one who had died for them was an undergirding pillar to existence in the Middle Ages.

In 1610, the Anglican priest and poet John Donne was struck with a major crisis. Thinking he had the plague, Donne wrote a poem to death—and the difference between his belief and that of Thomas’ is striking. In his poem, Donne states that we will get pleasure from the rest of death, and that as soon as the best people die, they await the redemption of their bones and the delivery of their soul. The climax of the sonnet ends with a triumphant note: ‘One short sleep past, we wake eternally; And Death shall be no more, death thou shalt die!’ Death was not to be raged against; it was to be accepted and met with the confidence that there is more to come.

Movies are better than previews

I want to be clear: death is not a good event. The Bible is full of laments and misery at the onset of death or the death of a loved one. We are not called to whistle through the graveyard, or offer trite comments to the grieving. Anyone who has lost someone dear to them will know the cruelty of death, and the ineffable welling in their soul that cries, ‘This is not right!’ We were made for much more than a life that ends in death.

But let us also understand that death is not the end. There is more to life than this, and if the Christian story is to be believed, then life-after-death is somehow more real, more true and (excuse the poor grammar) more good than this one. Trying to cram more into our current existence because we fear the end of it, is like trying to cram in more movie trailers before the actual movie starts. Movie previews are great, but movies are even better!

Social scientists, advertisers and athletes all realise that images inspire action. The Dutch sociologist Frederick Polak said, ‘Imagery inspires our intentions, which then move us purposefully forward.’ An athlete pictures themselves performing at their peak, and marketing cleverly displays images of a utopian future if we consume the right products.

But the Bible imagines a future that transforms our present. It is our calling to be so immersed in this image, that we begin to embody the future, here and now.

Holiness is a colour

What happens in life-after-death is shrouded in some mystery, with the Bible giving us merely a glimpse of the life to come. But it is a mystery that beckons us onwards and an adventure that awaits.

It is described as a gathering of all nations into one family, a picture that speaks powerfully into our racially-charged world. It speaks of a future of incredible generosity and love, inspiring us to begin this future of giving, now. It paints colours of righteousness and holiness, calling us to celebrate truth and beauty, while decrying the present evil. It is described as a new beginning, a new heaven and earth—words that inspire the imagination and then begin to shape the way we live now.

As we soak in the Scriptures, discovering more about our future, slowly but surely we see our actions, words, habits and dreams being drawn into harmony with this electric image.

Understanding our mortality shouldn’t lead us to fear death, but should call us to live lives that are rich in a future sense, as we seek to prepare ourselves for the adventure ahead. It is a mystery that is soaked in faith, hope and love, and that is the life that we are called to embark on now. As we do, we too can sing along with Paul, ‘Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’ And we thank God for how he transforms not only life, but death as well.

By Jeremy Suisted

Ponder This

• Say you only had one day to live: what would be the most important thing for you to do?
• If you have experienced grief, what has given you hope during these dark times?
• What does it mean for you to live ‘in the light of eternity’?
• Try something different: using different colours, draw a picture of how you see your life at the moment. Now, draw how you would like your life to look like. What do you need to do to make that picture a reality?