End-of-Life Planning: Leaving a Legacy of Peace
My great-aunt Aimasi gently died this weekend. She was 97 years old. Aunty Aimasi was the last living sibling of my grandfather, the Reverend Alaovae Alaovae. In Samoan culture, one of the most sacred human relationships is that between sisters and brothers. As one of his three magnificent sisters, Aunty Aimasi shaped my grandfather’s life in immeasurable ways.
In a family of big personalities, for nearly a century Aunty Aimasi held a position of steady and respected leadership. Even though my grandfather was a renowned pastor and their eldest sister, affectionately known throughout our family as Mama, was a powerful, Indigenous practitioner, Aunty Aimasi was in many ways the spiritual heart of our family. Gentle, intuitive, clear and so, so kind. She knew how to see through all the clutter to the truth of a situation.
As our family prepared for her death, Aunty Aimasi made a point of expressing and documenting her end-of-life wishes over and over again. No medical interventions. No need for the hospital or a sense of emergency. None of the days of ceremony and intricate gifts that are the traditional components of a Samoan death ritual. Instead, Aunty Aimasi only wanted a simple service where her family and community could come together and give thanks. She wanted her family, especially her daughters and nieces who had lovingly been taking care of her for years, to rest and be taken care of in return.
There is a saying in hospice that people often die how they live. This means, for example, that if someone had a difficult time with transitions during earlier parts of their life, they will probably have a difficult time with dying. Or if someone was known for generosity in life, that trait will most likely come out as they are dying, too. In the earlier part of her life, Aunty Aimasi was known for her peace, her faith and her abiding love for her family, village and community. Now as we ready her for burial, we are giving deep thanks for the many ways that her death and early season as an ancestor reflect these same values. By making her preferences clear, having ongoing conversations with everyone involved about her wishes, and putting her end-of-life plans in writing, Aunty Aimasi ensured that our family gets to continue benefiting from her peace, faith and abiding love. We get to give her exactly what she wanted - something we would have sacrificed a lot to joyfully do for this beloved elder - and we get to be blessed by her legacy, even as we grieve.
In the USA, we live in a stubbornly death avoidant society. We suffer from all of the consequences of this avoidance: violence, relational ruptures, trauma, denial, missed chances for better health, unnecessary and dangerous medical interventions, lack of time to say what needs to be said, uncertainty about how to honor each other, unresolved, complicated and suffocated grief. What if instead we faced death head on and took end-of-life planning as an opportunity to extend our legacies? What kind of ancestor do you want to be? The way your community experiences your dying and death will greatly impact how they experience you as an ancestor. Straightforward, early and documented end-of-life planning is a simple, practical, loving way for you to define your destiny.
Manuia lou malaga, Aunty Aimasi. Fa’afetai tele mo lou alofa 🧡
