I rarely read a book twice. “The Art of Dying Well” by Katy Butler is an exception. I just started a third reading of certain chapters. It’s changing how I view the few or many years I have yet to create.
The beauty of this practical guide is in the title’s second word – art. Most people have been taught to think of dying as a nasty five-letter word not spoken in public. Katy Butler, with a blend of heartwarming stories and hard science, supports my hunch that dying can be a thing of creative beauty. I just wasn’t sure how to do it until now.
The following is my take on the word “art,” so please don’t blame Katy.
I think of the rest of my life, including my eventual death, as an evolving piece of art, and I am the artist. I seek the opinions and advice of medical experts who can help me create my “masterpiece,” but I am the one who is in charge. I know what is best for me. I know my wishes and my limitations.
Before, I allowed myself to ride down the assembly line of modern medicine, blindly accepting “suggestions” from specialists along the way.
No more.
Now, I am creating a piece of art that is all me.