“I am Melia, Daughter of Sandra, Daughter of Angelina Else, Daughter of Maria, Daughter of Anna, Mother of Della Ruth...”
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Our dying, like our living, is both personal and paradoxical. Each life is a uniquely personal journey that begins with birth. Each of us lives our own life and dies our own death. Our death, like life, is also a paradox.
Before I encountered psychosynthesis, founded by Italian psychiatrist Roberto Assagioli, I knew there were areas of my life that I had scarcely looked at, although I had been in and out of therapy throughout most of my late 20s and 30s.
Men go off to war in every generation. Not necessarily wars with guns, bombs, and armies, but the wars of adult life. We play war games as children, but our warfare begins in earnest in school as we navigate the biologically-driven ‘Alpha male’ pecking order.
I am chopping carrots at home and the knife slips - there is a small searing pain. Blood drips, I bandage the wound, and the bleeding stops. A few days later, the cut is just a thin line. We heal ourselves.
People are usually curious about or uncomfortable with my choice to sit with the dying.
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