Fear Casts A Long Shadow Yet It’s Little More Than A Shadow

It has no power, so find ways to fight it.

By way of introduction to this article, I learned this morning about the death of a friend’s mother, from cancer. Her journey was long and painful, and but for the odd peppering of encouraging responses from her oncologist, the outlook had always been bleak. In five years, she rarely felt totally well.

There were some stressors in her life, feeling that she had to get back to work because:

• she didn’t have enough superannuation
• the child care center wouldn’t operate effectively without her
• her partner felt she would do better if she were back at work.

With hindsight things might have turned out so differently for her had she and her husband taken a massive leap of faith, maybe a trip to Europe where they might have been caught up in the joys of eating tapas in Barcelona, or taken a Top Deck tour around London, and just injected a little fun into their lives.

But they didn’t, and instead fed their worries to each other, and relied so heavily on their monthly visits to her specialist where her markers of health were duly delivered.

‘One must not forget that recovery is brought about, not by the physician, but by the sick man himself. He heals himself, by his own power, exactly as he walks by means of his own power, or eats, or thinks, breathes or sleeps.’

The death of a friend often causes us to reflect on our own health. Is there an assumption that good health is something we’ll always enjoy?

Or do we just coast along…hoping?

And if we do receive some negative prognosis, do we see it as the end of the road, or might there be some other options?

Is it possible for us to adjust our sails, and choose another path?

Let me share with you, the story of Stamatis Moraitis.

He was a soldier in the Second World War where he’d survived being shot in the arm, but managed to escape from his captors, and arrived in Turkey, eventually making his way to New York where he subsequently met and married, a Greek-American lady.

They settled down in Pert Jefferson in New York where together they raised their family. The area was teeming with Greeks from his native island Ikaria, so it was a fitting and comfortable place to settle, he felt.

All was well for a while. Life was good. But some years later he found himself struggling for breath whenever he exerted himself. After many medical consultations, he was eventually diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer, and given less than one year to live. The specialists suggested some rounds of chemotherapy to prolong his life, but there was no talk of cure.

If you’d been assured by a number of doctors that you would not live past nine months or so, would you succumb to chemotherapy?

Or, would you choose to let nature take its course?

Or might there be an even better option?

You see, when we are faced with our own mortality, we progress through the classic stages of, fear, denial, and anger, before we accept the inevitable.

Stamatis was faced with a dilemma and it wasn’t solely about his health.

He had to decide whether he would stay in America with his children where the price of his leaving this world would be inordinately high, or would he go back to his roots, in order to die.

He and his wife chose the latter, and with that, sold up and left America to live in Ikaria, surrounded by family and friends.

Knowing that his Greek burial would cost a fraction of that of New York was comforting, and the thought that it would remove some of the financial hardships his wife might have to face after he’d gone, helped galvanize his resolve.

Arriving on the island, Stamatis and his wife moved in with his elderly parents who lived in an old, stone cottage that time had forgotten, one where there were no modern conveniences.

Initially too sick to do much, his childhood friends began visiting him and bringing him food and home-made wines.

Day by day he began to feel better and stronger, and soon he was out of bed and starting to do some chores around the house.

In time he reconnected with his faith, cleaned up his parents’ garden, tended to their vineyard, and in the evenings he would visit the local taverna where he drank, played backgammon, and danced.

Over time, he grew happy and well, with enough energy to build an extension on his parents’ house to make room for his family from America.

So much for dying!

So what was the secret?

Here was a man who had arrived home to die, but instead built an extension on his parents’ home…and had fun!!

What was going on?

Perhaps we have to look at his changed lifestyle.

Life in Ikaria was simple.

People grew their own food.

Eating was therefore, seasonal for the most part… a Mediterranean-style diet.

Unlike in the the developed world, there is no excess in Ikaria.

There is no bad food, and as a result, many people live well into their nineties and beyond, and dementia is rare.

As a result of this, the island has now gained a Blue Zone status.

’Food can be the safest and most powerful form of medicine, or the slowest form of poison.’

Who was it who said that happiness comes in waves?

There’s certainly a calmness that comes with being able to sit a while on the shore, just taking in the blue of the ocean or watching a dolphin perform its daily dance.

Life in Ikaria is what many of us crave: days are long and unhurried, where people make time to:

• tend their gardens
• prepare food from those same gardens
• share
• make time for friends
• rest
• and in the evenings, have fun

And so to the astonishingly good outcome of this story…

Far from dying, Stamatis went on to live for another thirty six years — productive, happy years that found him working daily in his vineyard and garden.

It’s worth noting that, on a little island that has been overlooked in terms of time and progress, there might be a spirituality and a camaraderie that so many of us crave.

We can but ponder on the effects that tranquility, friendship, and inclusion can have on our health.

All those years ago, it looked as if it was too late for Stamatis, but in him we see a strength and resolve that proved otherwise.

Here’s what he decided

Not to end his days in a confusion of drugs.

To enjoy whatever time he had left

To reconnect with his beloved island and with its people

To make his last years meaningful

Something to think about

Few of us make the most of our time here on earth.

That’s because we don’t think that today could be our last, yet it could be!

It’s not until that line has been drawn in the sand (by someone else,) that we stop and take stock and, in some cases, then we adjust our sails.

The reality is that some people do not get to live for thirty six years, let alone for an extra thirty-six!

Such is the bank of life from which each of us draws.

Some are fortunate enough to live long enough to receive the birthday card from the queen.

Some, despite their age, despite doctors’ predictions, accept their fate, calm their hearts, have fun, and go on happily living until nature takes its course.

Remember my friend’s mother?

I can’t help thinking that she might have lived for more years, had she not worried about finances and work, and had she made plans to take another pathway.

She could have!

But it wasn’t an option, because her thinking denied her that.

But when faced with the odds, what would you do?

My dad used to say that if he died with two shillings in his pocket, he would have budgeted perfectly! It was a joke, but also an attitude to life.

‘No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new.’