On My
Father’s Death
Donald John (Peter) Clarke
1924
- 2002
Note:
I used the term ‘Dad’ rather than ‘father’ throughout this essay,
because in fact he was my foster father, bringing me up from the age of
three months. That is the name I knew him by.
My
Dad Dies
At
about 10.00am on the morning of Monday 15 July 2002 my Dad gripped my
Mum’s hand and drew it closer, then his grip lost its power as he died.
A series of events then unfolded for our family as we struggled to come
to terms with our loss. It restructured our family, our relationships
and the way we create understanding and meaning in our lives.
Chaos
and Complexity and Death
The
principles of Chaos and Complexity have become a very real part of who
I am and how I form my world view. It therefore becomes crucial for me
to understand and interpret the death of my Dad and our family’s grief
in terms of the understandings of chaos and complexity.
A
complex system comprises a number of agents which interact intensely.
While the agents are autonomous and have an independent existence, they
are also intricately connected to the other agents. Human groups
virtually universally join together in family units with family members
who intensely interact with each other.
Whenever
an agent is taken out of a system, as in a death, the agents must first
become aware of the loss and come to terms with it. There may be
immediate issues, such as resourcing or information flows that need to
be maintained. Then work must begin restructuring and adapting the
system to function effectively in the new environment and changed
circumstances. The system must be restored to a new dynamic balance at
a new Edge of Chaos in order for the system to maintain its position.
Each fractal level must adapt to fulfil its role within the next higher
fractal level. Individuals must reassess how they fit into the family,
while the family must adjust its position in relation to its community.
When
a family member dies, the community must cope with the loss of the ties
and the interactions which can no longer operate as before. They must
also re-establish links and adjust relationships in the family and
community. The process of coping with broken links and the
re-establishment of relationship links is called grief.
An
important part of the formation of family groups is the establishment
of agreed ways of perceiving the world. The family’s interactions,
bounded by the agreed rules and interpretations, form an identity,
which becomes a part of each member. The boundary of the rules is fuzzy
to allow for individual differences.
When
a member dies, there is not only the sense of loss of an individual and
the relationships with that person, but there is a fundamental change
in the sense of identity and meaning.
The
discontinuity caused by the death is reflected through all fractal
levels. The effects are felt in the family, the community and,
depending on the individual, at a regional, national or even planetary
level. Even at levels lower than the individual, the death of a family
member can affect bodily processes and the functioning of bodily
organs, right down to the cellular level of all involved.
Death
Death
is a point attractor to which we all move. We do not know when we will
die, but we can be sure we will. Typically, chaotic systems become
increasingly unstable until they reach a bifurcation point, where the
state of the system must change because the existing state is
unsustainable. That new state is not usually known or predictable.
Death is a point attractor, so, when the state of being alive is no
longer sustainable, there is only one possible new configuration.
Without
the dissipative energy continuing to flow through the system, the
forces of entropy become greater than the forces of negentropy and the
system lapses into chaos. The physical body that supported the
functions of life is no longer able to function and is reduced to mere
matter.
Many
people would argue for a life after death. In this case those vortical
energies not a part of the physical body, or inextricably connected to
it, would need to somehow detach themselves and reform into some new
constellation of energy able to sustain itself beyond death.
Dad’s
Illness and Death
My
Dad’s death was not unexpected. He had previously suffered three
strokes and two heart attacks. He had diabetes, high cholesterol, and a
host of other more minor problems. The degree to which my Dad’s
physical body could degenerate and yet still be capable of maintaining
vital life functions, attests to the efficiency of complex adaptive
systems. My Dad’s body had been working furiously to maintain itself
and build new pathways to enable his continued functioning. Once the
degeneration reaches a particular critical point, the demise is often
rapid.
His
death was a shock to us all, but knowing of his impending death
allowed us to begin the grieving process well before his actual demise.
When the family left him on Sunday evening, he deteriorated much more
quickly than anticipated, so the death was still unexpected.
Rituals
of Death
Rituals
are an extremely important part of coping with death. They acts as a
vehicle for the psychological processes of grieving and healing.
The
ritual of viewing the body can help the rest of the family come to
terms with the loss. One of the first reactions to a loss such as death
is often denial. We would prefer to believe life was continuing the
same as before and that nothing had changed. We humans have an amazing
ability to reinterpret what we are experiencing so it remains within
our existing world view and belief system. Our experience can be
denied, distorted, minimised or projected to avoid having to change our
view of ourselves and our world.
To
actually see the dead body of the deceased is almost always a very
positive way of making the reality of the death undeniable. It helps us
get beyond the first step in grieving of acknowledging what has
actually happened. While denial continues there can be no grieving.
Viewing the body can trigger memories and emotions that forms a cascade
of healing processes.
On
viewing my Dad, Mum’s real feelings emerged for the only time. She
called him “daddy” and asked why he had to go and leave her alone.
Fortunately, those of us present allowed her the space to express those
feelings, so the vortical forces could gather sufficient momentum to
allow a healing energy to emerge. All to often such expressions of
grief are too much for other people to bear and they attempt to stifle
the response by telling the grieving person to stop being emotional or
irrational.
While
viewing the body is a very direct experience, the funeral directors
have significantly cosmeticised the body so the person appears as much
as possible as they did while alive. This is not altogether bad as if
the experience of viewing the body becomes traumatic, the revulsion
becomes a barrier to healing. There are instances when the body has
been too badly disfigured for viewing to be a positive experience. With
an open casket we had the opportunity to leave some small items to be
buried with Dad.
At
the funeral all those present focus their attentions, thoughts and
prayers on the deceased. Values are restated to reaffirm and further
canalise them for the whole group. Grief is expressed, people are
comforted, the life is remembered, and inspirational thoughts are
offered. The use of music, which links to our sense of inner harmony
can allow a more direct access to feelings and emotions than words
alone. People usually have particular music or music styles they
prefer. Playing such music helps people to link and identify with the
deceased.
If
ritual does not maintain their flow, the psychological processes are
disrupted. At the cemetery the funeral directors made the mistake of
not first getting Mum to stand in the right place and explain what was
to happen. They assumed that she would know and the resulting confusion
in her mind detracted from her ability to be fully present in the
moment of the burial. Ritual open windows of opportunity for healing,
but if they are not activated at the appropriate moment, they are much
more difficult to activate at a later time. There is a rhythm and
harmony to ritual which makes it very powerful.
The
burial provides another opportunity to confront the reality of the
death. The casket is seen being lowered into the earth. Flowers and
earth and other objects are dropped into the grave. Here again,
however, is cosmeticisation. The earth from my Dad’s grave was placed
on a trailer and taken away from the grave side so we do not have to
see the soil and clay. The handful of earth we were offered to drop
into the grave was extremely sandy, so it was not ‘dirty’. We were
offered a trowel to scoop up the earth from a small container and tip
into the grave, so we did not even have to touch the earth. This
continuing process of distancing ourselves from the reality of death
reduces our ability to recover after a death. If we cannot face death,
we cannot live life fully. Every act that distances us from the reality
of death equally distances us from the reality and joy of life.
It
is often said that about three weeks after the funeral is the most
difficult time. By then many of the phone calls and visits have stopped
and life starts to ‘get back to normal’. It is at this time also,
however, when much of the reality of the death becomes more conscious.
This can be a harder time to bear than the funeral itself.
Giving
the Eulogy
I
was asked to give a eulogy on behalf of the family. The eulogy brings
the essence of the deceased back into the memory of those who have come
to the funeral. We become acutely aware, not only of what we have lost
in the death, but of the heritage that remains.
The
preparation and delivery of the eulogy became a part of my own grief
process. I needed to ask people about their memories and pay closer
attention to what was being said and done around me in case it might
contain something I could use in my talk. I was having to examine my
own thoughts and feelings.
I
had to think of what it was that made Dad special and different; of
what made us happy, sad, angry or thankful. All these factors then
swirled about in my mind forming a vortex, from which an overall form
for the talk emerged. The vortex resonated with the vortex of my grief
process, both vortices supporting and uplifting the other.
By
mentioning the family names and family stories in the eulogy I
reaffirmed the bonds that held us together. I told of important events
in my father’s life; humorous events, acts of heroism, and biographical
facts, all of which painted a picture and evoked memories. It was
pleasing to hear a smile or even a chuckle of recognition while I was
speaking that indicated that I had captured something of the essence of
who Dad was.
Things
to be done after the death
The
funeral is only one of many tasks to be undertaken around the time of
the death. Relatives and friends need to be informed so they are aware
of the break in connectivity. There are possessions to be sorted,
deciding what to keep and who they should go to. Borrowed items will
need to be returned. Thank you cards must to be written and the lawyer
must be visited. Decisions about who will perform functions previously
undertaken by the deceased are necessary. These tasks are a part of the
grief process of detaching from those links which cannot be sustained,
maintaining those from the past which can, and re-attaching links
within the network in order to function effectively in the future.
My
Dad’s Role in the Family
My
Dad had a crucial role as the unspoken patriarch of our extended
family. For many decades he had played an important role in all our
lives. My mother now will work to fulfil the leadership role he left.
Even though, she was the more dominant figure, she will feel the burden
of being the only person of her generation left. When she dies, it will
be the loss of a whole generation and the role will fall to the next
generation with no clear leader. A very different style of leadership
will emerge between myself, my siblings and our families as we taks on
the roles of our parents. The living generations form a vortex with the
flow of generations being born into the vortex and those dying flowing
out of it. Although constantly changing, the multi-generational family
structure maintains as an enduring identity.
My
Dad’s earlier years were not spent in such a supportive family
environment. He was raised by an uncle and aunt and many family members
died early. It is my Mum’s family that is extensive, not only covering
the four generations of our family group, but including the families of
her siblings, cousins and even second cousins.
Dysfunctional
Families
Dysfunction
in a family constellates as a destructive strange attractor,often
handed on to following generations. Those things we do not resolve in
our own lives, such as drugs, alcohol, or violence, form part of the
destructive heritage passed on. When a family member finds a way to
break the effects of the inherited negative strange attractor, they
open the possibility of dissolving the attractor for the whole family
and generations to come. They can create new, positive attractors for
their descendents.
The
time of the funeral can be very destructive if family tensions are
dominant. Family members can be blamed for the death, old disagreements
re-emerge, or inheritances can be disputed. As with any complex
adaptive system, a family can lapse into deep chaos and the healing
possibilities are lost
Community
Networks
As
well as family members there were many other people affected by my
Dad’s death. Neighbours, work-mates, and groups such as the Stroke
Club, Okiwi Bay residents and St Barnabas church’s congregation
were all touched by his life and death. These connections cross
horizontally through the community in a dense network of relationships.
They share a fractal similarity with the family. Connections with them
are broken and they must undergo their own grieving process to come to
terms with the death.
It
was interesting that the neighbours who proved to be the most affected
were not the immediate neighbours, but those we left some twenty years
ago when we shifted from Tipahi Street. I was surprised and delighted
to find the family and neighbourhood ties still so vibrant and intact.
The degree of connectivity with family and neighbours highlighted for
me the loss of connectivity in the community where I now live. I have
no family in Dunedin other than my wife and daughter. Where I live at
present, neighbours are pleasant and co-operative over issues like
fencing and barking dogs. We greet each other, but live essentially
separate lives and have no meaningful interactions.
Okiwi
Bay
An
important aspect of our family identity is our links to Okiwi Bay, a
small bay in the Marlborough Sounds, just over an hours drive from
Nelson. Six generations of our family has been going “down the bay” for
holidays and recreation. I have an uncle and aunt and a cousin and his
wife living permanently there. Our immediate family has a large two
storeyed holiday home. The whole bay is imbued with family memories and
our identity is woven into the hills, the beach and the rivers. We are
linked to the land and the land is linked to us. The bay is an integral
part of our identity and sense of belonging. Okiwi Bay was a part of my
Dad and now he remains as a part of the bay.
Living
Away from Home
I
live in Dunedin, some twelve hours by car from Nelson. The only other
family member living away from the city of Nelson is a niece who lives
in Blenheim, a drive of an hour and a half from Nelson. Technological
advances have made it far easier to maintain connectivity within the
family. Regular telephone calls and emails are affordable and maintain
family links. Physical proximity is becoming less of an impediment to
maintaining family connectivity.
Attending
the funeral allowed me to re-establish contact with some relations and
old friends I had not seen for decades. They reconnected me with the
days of my youth and enhanced the coherence of my identity over time.
There was a re-establishment of links to the environment I was brought
up in, as I revisited locations I remembered from my youth.
Travelling
to Nelson
I
heard of my Dad’s death around 11.00am on 15 July. I went home from
work to arrange travel to Nelson. It became apparent that the only
realistic way of reaching Nelson that day was to travel five hours by
car to Christchurch and fly from there. That meant a fast drive. If I
were to miss the flight, the only way to get to Nelson in reasonable
time was a further seven hour drive, arriving exhausted in the early
hours of the morning.
Previous
experiences have revealed a pattern which, for some reason, often seems
to manifest at times of crisis. Some task is required where there is a
deadline or some risk that would result in a catastrophe in some way
should the task not be met. Time after time this deadline or task is
only just attained. It feels as though faith is required for a good
outcome. An Edge of Chaos experience is created, whereby outcomes
beyond those we might normally expect can emerge. I also suspect some
form of distortion of the space-time continuum allowing time to flow in
ways other than those we usually experience. This could also be linked
to Dana Zohar’s (Zohar 1990)claim that consciousness is able to make
manifest realities normally only found in quantum mechanics or
relativity.
While
driving to Nelson, I found myself saying to myself, “This is crazy,
there is no way I can make it in time. I am just speeding and risking
my safety and that of other people and risking a ticket” (which I did
get). At other times, I said, “You know this pattern, remain strong and
it will work out.” I unsuccessfully tried to phone ahead to the airport
to let them know I was likely to be late. As it happened, I dashed,
utterly breathless, from the car park with all my luggage into the
terminal at 6.26pm for a flight due to leave at 6.30pm. The flight had
been delayed 15 minutes and I was just allowed on the flight. While it
might be argued that this is mere co-incidence, I am convinced that in
these times we enter a different state of consciousness that allows the
emergence of new abilities that would be seen as impossible in ordinary
waking states of consciousness. I believe there are spiritual practices
which can enable us to enter such states without the need of an
extraordinary crisis, and enable us to stay in those states longer and
with more control.
Maori
Traditions about Death
It
is also my experience, particularly from time spent within the world of
the New Zealand Maori, that a person who is dying has an extraordinary
ability to affect events around their death and funeral. Again, I
believe this to be a result of emergent abilities arising from the
special Edge of Chaos circumstances involved in the process of death. I
have experienced many “coincidental” events that altered events to
allows the funeral to proceed as the deceased would have wished.
Perhaps
the most dramatic event I remember was the tangihanga (funeral) of an
old Maori woman who had sons living on the Chattam Islands, a small
remote island about 800 kilometres east of New Zealand. Immediately
when news arrived that bad weather might stop her sons from arriving
for the funeral, there were bursts of thunder and lightning and an
enormous, totally unseasonal downpour. The water began leaking
profusely only into the room we were in and the small chapel next door.
We scrambled to find all the towels we could to mop up the water.
After
perhaps two minutes of heavy rain, a sister of the deceased woman came
in from the kitchen, still clutching a large kitchen knife. The sister
angrily shouted at the deceased. She said, “What the bloody hell do you
think you are doing making all this rain. Your sons will never get here
if you keep up that bloody nonsense, Cut it out!” The rain immediately
ceased and her sons all duly arrived. They have never had any other
problems with leaks before or after.
We
have all heard of stories of people hanging on to life until a certain
person has arrived to be with them or to make peace, but often the
deceased does not want certain people to be present and they are kept
away by a string of ‘co-incidences’. Often in Maori communities, the
family will wish to take the body of a relative back to their home area
for burial. This can clash if the deceased person’s desire is to be
buried in the city where they have made their home for many years and
where their family will remain. Too many times for me to called a
co-incidence, I have seen the out of town relatives ‘co-incidentally’
delayed; enough to allow them to attend the funeral, but not to change
the funeral plans.
In
Maori tradition, as in many other traditions around the world, there is
a believe in the mauri, which can be likened to the Western soul. The
mauri is said to leave the body on death, but remains close by for
around three days before finally leaving the earth plane. Just before
leaving, the mauri will appear in the form of a bird or similar
creature to carry the deceased on their journey of spirit. When my
uncle died around five years ago, immediately after returning from the
crematorium a monarch butterfly most extraordinarily landed on the
windscreen of our car. It stayed there for around two minutes and flew
away.
I
had been waiting for such a creature to appear around the time of the
burial of my Dad, but did not see it. Afterwards, however, my daughter
slipped me a piece of paper saying, “I saw his butterfly”. She later
told me she first saw it on the casket at the cemetery during the
tribute from the Returned Servicemans’ Association. I believe this too
is a manifestation of emergent properties caused by the deceased person
having access to heightened levels of consciousness during the brief
time before the mauri leaves. The mauri wraps itself in a physical
form, leaving a final manifestation for us left on this earthly plane.
Heritage
A
person leaves a heritage when they die. A system may retain the trace
of an agent which has ‘died’ for a long time afterwards. In physical
terms a person leaves money or goods in their will. They also live on
within the memory, identity and value systems of those around them.
For
Dad, a strong extended family was his principal legacy. Two
months after his death another great-grandchild, Hayley Mae was born.
While she will never know her great grandfather, she will know him
through her experiences within the extended family that he worked so
hard to maintain and develop.
Some
things are lost forever. I remember my Dad talking about seeing the
funeral train of Sir Joseph Ward, a New Zealand Prime Minister who died
in 1930. I can imagine that event, but the living memory has gone. The
past disappears from us as those who have experienced it directly are
ever increasingly lost from us.
Death
and Anxiety
Ralph
Stacey (1996) writes about anxiety containment as an important feature
of complex organisations, but the principles are equally valid in a
family context.
Whenever
we feel as though we are not in control of aspects of our lives, we
generate anxiety. We create structures in our lives to allow us to
regain sufficient feeling of control to contain our anxiety. Few things
generate anxiety more than death. Experiencing the death of someone
around us creates anxiety, not only because of our loss, but because it
forces us to confront our own mortality. There is also anxiety
generated as we reconstruct our lives following a death.
One
way of containing anxiety is by the expression of grief. There is
something about the shedding of tears that releases emotions and
enables a healing process. Mutual support also enables us the reduce
the level of anxiety. The rituals of death and religious or
spiritual values play an important role in containing anxiety.
Narratology
and the Process of Grief
The
particular words chosen to talk about death and grief play a major part
in how we define and experience those events. Euphemisms such as
‘passed away’, ‘gone to a better place’, ‘pushing up daisies,’ and ‘no
longer with us’, are a part of the social construction of avoiding the
reality of death. The interaction between the use of the words and
their effect on our consciousness can turn into a downward spiral, each
feeding and reinforcing the other. Simple, honest words can turn the
spiral around to support people.
Emotions
Emotions
are more likely to emerge at times of crisis. Events in our outer world
affect our inner world. When we have a crisis in our outer world, there
is a reflection in our inner world. Sometimes a small event in our
outer world will causes major changes in our inner world, and large
changes in our outer world may only have a small effect on our inner
world.
As
we come to terms with the outside events, we form feedback loops in our
thoughts, memories and feelings of our past experiences, which form
swirling vortices of emotion. As the emotion emerges from the still
centre of the vortex it is expressed bodily, signalling our emotional
state to those around us. This forms further intensely interactive
feedback loops amongst the people we are with to form social vortices
of emotion. The sharing of emotions with others helps to reduce the
anxiety we feel over the events that have occurred and move us beyond
feeling overwhelmed. Our emotional responses can also interact and
change the very events that have triggered their emergence.
Fuzziology
Anything
that is not certain or understood contains fuzziness. The nature of
death, and particularly what happens after death, can never be known
with certainty. It is epitomised in the story of the Zen master who was
asked what happens after death. He replied that he did not know. The
questioner was puzzled and said, “Why don’t you know, you a Zen master
after all?” The master replied, “Yes, but not a dead one”.
We
cannot live with the unknown. We must investigate it, climb it,
organise it and control it. Because of the innate fractality of life,
the fuzziness in the search to understand death continues endlessly. We
struggle to know that which cannot be known rather than accepting the
mystery of it. The fuzziness leads us to form increasingly complex
explanations for death and ever increasingly complex rituals, which
never quite satisfy our needs and drive us on to the next formation.
Grief
The
grief and confusion which is evident after a death creates a increased
level of fuzziness. The usual sense of control we have over our lives
is stripped away to reveal our inner insecurities. If we have the
courage to embrace the fuzziness we can reveal greater depths to our
being.
Grief
is a painful process that can be very difficult to bear. Sometimes it
is so great as to tip us beyond the Edge of Chaos into deep chaos,
where it becomes a destructive influence. At such times we look for
ways to reduce our grief, either to avoid being overwhelmed by it, or
to avoid the pain in our grief. Heaney (2002: P89) provides a
list of ways in which we avoid grief. Some are strategies that delay
the grief and can be useful because they allow time for feelings of
being overwhelmed to subside safely. Grieving, however, has an
individual timing and rhythm. Any delay or denial of grief has a cost.
First
in Heaney’s list is denial. Even with clear evidence of a person’s
death, we can distort our thinking to allow us to believe they are
still alive and will return. As well as denying we can minimise
the effect of the death and pretend it was not important or we are not
affected. Next we can rationalise our grief by finding a “logical” way
of looking at the situation so it does not seem as bad. By projecting,
we blame others for the events and focus on externalising it. Similarly
we can displace or divert our emotional on to others including God.
Withdrawal closes us down so we reduce the amount that we feel, thus
reducing the pain, but also reducing our abilities to heal. Regression
leaves us in a state of dependency, waiting for someone else to solve
our problems. Finally through stoicism we deny the depth of our
feelings and label them unimportant because we just need to ‘get on
with life’.
Since
the time surrounding a death is a time of crisis for those intimately
involved, it is more probable that those who survive will find
themselves at points of bifurcation. Previous circumstances cannot be
maintained and change must occur. Times of crisis bear a similarity to
times of ‘initial conditions’ of Chaos Theory. At such times small
‘butterfly’ effects are more likely to have a significant effect in
people’s lives. A chance telephone call suggesting a mourning person
could move to live in another place, is more generally likely to be
taken seriously after a time of crisis. New interests are more likely
to be sought to fill the gap left by the crisis, once there is enough
energy to pursue them.
Spiritual
Perspectives on Death
Spiritual
perspectives can form a framework of meaning around the experiences of
death. It can also enable the emergence of a new level of understanding
of the true nature of our being. Death often leads us to re-examine
some of our basic beliefs. This is particularly so if the there is
something about the death that challenges our existing beliefs.
Unfortunately
spiritual perspectives can also be used to further deny the reality of
death. I believe that seeing death as merely moving into another room
or going to a better place can become ways of trivialising the loss and
disrupting the healing process.
My
Dad was a committed Anglican and his beliefs shaped his perceptions of
the world and the ways he created meaning in his life. The church
liturgy had a real meaning for him. The Anglican funeral formed a
coherent framework that supported Dad’s sense of meaning in life. It
had little meaning for some who attended but even for them, it provided
yet another window into who Dad was.
Singing
hymns is a means of linking people together and building coherence.
Voices join in harmony expressing the same ideas and vision. In years
gone by hymn singing was far more powerful. People knew the words and
tunes well and the words were aligned to their own beliefs.
Alternatively, singing hymns and saying or chanting pre-set liturgies
can also have the effect of canalysing beliefs into a rigid,
Proctrustean world view.
Death
Mirrored in our Inner Being
We
form an image or a map of who we think we are within ourselves so we
can compare it to what we are experiencing from the outside world. This
is used to ensure that our actions are consistent with the identity
that has been already formed. We must similarly form images of the
other people in our lives through which we judge their behaviour. We
therefore have a map of each person in our lives WITHIN our own
identity. When a person we know dies, a part of us literally dies as
well. The image in side us no longer matches the outer world and we
must realign our inner world.
Death
Releases Innovation and Resources
Death
is not only about loss. Death can be the catalyst for reaching new
levels of complexity (Keirsey, 1997). When an agent in a complex
adaptive system ‘dies’, space is created for innovation. Other agents
must take over the role of the one which has gone and they will fulfil
the functions in a different way. The resources that the agent had
available are redistributed, providing another catalyst for innovation.
In terms of our family, my Mum and those of my generation must take on
roles my father had. The possessions he had always taken charge off
such the boat, car and holiday home will looked after by other people.
A
dead tree in the forest becomes the home for all sorts of lichens,
plants and small animals. It makes a real contribution to the
continuation of the whole environment. Death means a transfer of
information between levels. A human being contributes their body
to compost or ashes that help sustain life sustained at a lower level.
Their heritage can also include poetry, music, literature, art or
scientific understanding formed in their lifetime. A person can leave
gardens, buildings, or craft work.
A
system can also contribute to a higher level of development. The plant
life which died in the carboniferous period formed the oil, which is
now vital to our functioning in the modern world.
Darryl
Reaney (1991) suggests that death exists because it is a far more
efficient method of maintaining long term survival. If any creature
were to live forever, it would require a far more robust physical form
that will not suffer the effects degeneration and far greater amounts
of energy. A creature that can die only needs to be robust enough to
last it’s lifetime. A creature that could not die could have a long
miserable time suffering from the effects of an accident or injury that
make it less functional for a long time.
Death
enables evolution. A creature that lived forever has little
adaptability. If there was no death, we would not have been able to
evolve beyond the level of bacteria. The process of death with a built
in ability to self organise from generation to generation to become
what we are and evolve towards possibilities beyond our wildest dreams.
Thank God for death.
Conclusion
The
death of my father was an intense occasion filled with sadness, tears,
laughter, hope, and despair. It was a time of crisis that opened a
window of opportunity for me and my family to come to know who we are
and face our vulnerability. We dwelt at the Edge of Chaos and used the
opportunity as best we could to engender the dynamics of self
organisation to express our grief and for our own healing. As the weeks
pass we continue to reconstruct our lives as a part of our long journey
of becoming that which we truly are.
WORDS
5,895
BIBLIOGRAPHY
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Darryl, (1991), The Death of Forever, A New Future for Human
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Ralph D., (1996), Complexity and Creativity in Organizations,
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Dana, (1990), The Quantum Self, A Revolutionary View of Human Nature
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