Death and Life After Death

Several months ago, I visited a close friend’s house to say farewell to her husband, Michael, who was battling pancreatic cancer. He has endured tremendous pain since his diagnosis four months ago. Everyone I’ve spoken with who knows him shares the feeling that it’s incredibly unfair for Michael to face this terrible cancer. I completely agree. Samantha, my friend, and he had just sold their aquatic camera business and were looking forward to starting their retirement. And then it happened. Just like that.

Samantha decided she wanted Michael’s friends to visit him at their home in his final days—sooner rather than later, because his time was very limited. When I arrived, Samantha’s daughter Lily pulled up at the same time, and we met at the front door, where she set down the fan she had been holding (to keep Michael cool) to hug me. Lily sobbed in my arms, and I could feel her sadness and grief over losing her father. I dropped into the same feeling state as she, and we slowly walked through the front door.

I was unexpectedly filled with an overwhelming sense of love that enveloped me, and this powerful feeling persisted as I entered. I encountered both old and new friends—and felt completely in tune with each of them. I spoke with Michael, who was in a liminal state between life and death. Despite this, I was acutely aware that he could hear every whispered word during this sacred moment.

I reflected on Carl Jung’s profound and meaningful expression of death and life after death in Memories, Dreams, Reflections. (p.314)

Jung says, “And so it is-death is indeed a fearful piece of brutality; there is no sense pretending otherwise. It is brutal not only as a physical event, but far more so psychologically: a human being is torn away from us, and what remains is the icy stillness of death. There no longer exists any hope of a relationship, for all the bridges have been smashed at one blow… The actual experience of the cruelty and wantonness of death can so embitter us that we conclude there is no merciful God, no justice, and no kindness.

From another point of view, however, death appears as a joyful event. In the light of eternity, it is a wedding, a mysterium coniunctionis. The soul attains, as it were, its missing half; it achieves wholeness.”

Michael avoided discussing his death, and his denial or fear of it led him to believe he would get better. I pondered how this dying process would be for him, given that he had been unable to accept it before reaching his current state. It made me wonder why we, as a collective in the United States, don’t talk more about the death process when it is part of life!

Over the past month, I’ve been reflecting on the coniunctio—a psychological union that leads to wholeness—and its importance not only physically but also spiritually, especially after witnessing Michael’s passing. I realize that this union of opposites remains crucial for the living as well. As an analyst, I work with clients eager to explore their psyche deeply for transformation, and the coniunctio plays a key role in this process.

I always feel honored to work with my analysands who dare to explore the depths of their psyches in such profound ways. This work is not easy, but it can transform people’s lives. I am always happy to talk to anyone who wants to explore this type of soul work.