Though my father-in-law's body has returned to nature, he is living in our hearts.

Two years ago my father-in-law was diagnosed with lung cancer. By the time the tumors were discovered, it was too late to operate. After the doctors assessed the case and the family members carefully weighed the options, he decided not to take chemotherapy. Instead we took Dad to mainland China for traditional Chinese therapy. Since the doctor there had a great deal of practical experience and also knew how to look after his patients' psychological well-being, Dad was in good spirits and could lead a normal life. At times he even joked about his own illness to comfort the heavy hearts of his visiting relatives.

Last year, after my mother-in-law died, Dad's symptoms recurred. He had always been a person who liked to express his feelings. When his wife was still alive, she had been good listener to him, but now his favorite partner was gone. Though outwardly Dad looked fine, we could tell he was lonely. We worried that he had no one with whom to share his happiness, anger or sorrow and that his loneliness might affect his health.

Indeed, it was soon discovered that he had fluid in his lungs. Before long, his situation was so bad that the doctor he had been seeing could no longer help him. In order to reduce his pain, he was sent to a hospital for treatment. With the strong recommendation of the physician there, he took his first chemotherapy treatment.

Unfortunately, he didn't tolerate the chemotherapy as well as we had hoped. Within twelve days, his whole body ached. After he came home from the hospital, he couldn't eat or even move. When we sent him back to the hospital for help, the doctor was very cold and said that there was nothing he could do. "I prescribed a painkiller for him, but he didn't take it. So of course he doesn't feel good." We explained to him that it was not that Dad didn't want to take the tablets. He just couldn't swallow them.

"In that case, there's nothing I can do. What do you expect with this kind of disease? It's normal for him to deteriorate in this way."

My heart ached when I heard this. Why had he so strongly recommended before that Dad take chemotherapy? In an authoritative manner, the doctor told us that we were not doctors and that we had only heard about the negative side of chemotherapy. How could we criticize it without even giving it a try. "We have experience," the doctor had said, "and chemotherapy is not as bad as you think. If I were you, I would at least let him try it once." It had sounded reasonable and he had convinced Dad to try it. However, no one had expected that he would suffer so much.

Tzu Chi Hospital

I didn't understand why the doctor had suggested such invasive chemotherapy if he knew that it wouldn't work. And when Dad couldn't eat or drink, why didn't he give a prescription to relieve his suffering? Although I was confused and upset, I could do nothing but take Dad back home. We had him eat a lot of fresh vegetables and fruits to get the toxins out of his body. Soon he got better and could live normally. With the pain gone, he felt very happy and he looked wonderful.

Although Dad was an optimist at heart, he was really very old and his cancer was terminal. Symptoms appeared one after another: he got thinner and thinner, he had no energy and always felt exhausted. Sometimes he had to rely on morphine to kill his pain. In April of that year, he went back to the hospital to check out a sore on his waist and to find out why his legs felt so weak. By this time the cancer cells had already spread to other parts of his body, so the doctor recommended immediate radiotherapy.

From then on, Dad became emotionally very unstable. He swore constantly and wouldn't listen to anybody. He wouldn't even chant the holy name of Amitabha Buddha.

I asked myself what I would need most if I were in his position. Theoretically, it was a time to think about life and death, put aside one's worries and courageously face the end of life. But was this so easy to do? The physical suffering could be relieved by medicine, but what about the mental suffering? Dad's religious beliefs were not particularly deep and he had only recently turned to Buddhism. "I didn't chant the holy name of Amitabha Buddha before," he said, "so it seems rather strange to pray to the Buddha at this stage of my life."

In order to give him a better understanding of Buddhism, I took him to see some Buddhist dharma masters. I also held a string of Buddhist chanting beads in front of him and together with him chanted "Amitabha." Nonetheless, I failed to give him more peace of mind. Frightened of his uncertain future, he clung tightly to everything that was familiar to him.

I couldn't bear to see him suffer, and I lost no opportunity to soothe him. Finally, we thought of the Heart Lotus Ward, the palliative care ward at Tzu Chi Hospital. Not long ago, we had gone to a charity bazaar and learned about the Tzu Chi organization. After thinking about it for a while, he agreed to fly to Hualien and check into the Tzu Chi Hospital.

Compassionate service

The volunteers in the emergency room received us warmly, and the physician asked questions in a friendly, gentle way. In the Heart Lotus Ward, the nurses were very courteous as they prepared for Dad's hospitalization. They even served each of us a bowl of noodles cooked by one of the volunteers. The noodles warmed our hearts as well as our stomachs, and the electrically operated bed more than satisfied Dad's desire to be able to do things for himself.

As soon as we completed the admission procedures, a volunteer invited Dad to a party in the roof garden. Even though he was very tired, his curiosity made him go. Usually Dad kept a hand on his chest to alleviate his pain, but I noticed that during the party his hand slowly moved away. Before long, he was enthusiastically clapping his hands with everyone else.

Perhaps because of his peace of mind, perhaps because of his fatigue, he slept soundly the first night. But on the following day he had difficulty urinating and he couldn't move his legs. He also felt severe pain and nausea. All the symptoms the physician had predicted appeared. Fortunately, he was in the Heart Lotus Ward where the doctors and nurses were taking good care of him. At this point his physical problems could be alleviated by medicine, but we realized that his emotional care and religious beliefs would also be of great help.

The facilities of the Heart Lotus Ward look like an extended family complex or a small community, where each room is like a small family. The wooden floors and the cozy, delightfully colored interior decoration convey a feeling of being at home. The ultrasonic bathing equipment, which looks like an oversized baby bath basin, is particularly noteworthy. While lying down in the tub, a patient can have his body cleaned, his hair rinsed, his back rubbed and even his beard shaved. Dad was like a happy baby. After the bath, four big towels were wrapped around him to dry his body. Even the people who had washed him could sense his delight.

The volunteers in the Heart Lotus Ward are the nicest people you can imagine. They do everything to please their patients, including singing, dancing, telling jokes, etc. Their warmth, enthusiasm and great love enabled Dad to regain his faith in humanity. He was convinced that he was witnessing the warm side of human nature.

"Everyone is so kind to me, and I'm really very grateful. I never dreamed there could be such a wonderful place. Yesterday I sang with you and today I feel much better. When my condition improves a little, I'll sing some songs for you. Thank you all so much." The words came from the bottom of his heart, but only I knew how difficult it was for him to say them.

Several young volunteers came to the ward after they finished work in their offices or schools. Holding the old man's hands, they massaged him, talked to him and sang for him. They called him "grandpa" and made him feel as if he were part of their family.

A dance of joy

The first of May was a full and very exciting day for Dad. The whole day was filled with programs. In the evening when the Army Recreation Team gave a charity performance, the old man had dinner in bed while enjoying the show. He applauded from beginning to end, and at the high point even moved his body as if to dance the twist. Everybody around was surprised and called him "the Twisting Uncle."

The next day his energy began to diminish. He slept longer and longer and engaged in fewer and fewer activities. We could see he was really tired. Ever since he became ill, he had been saying, "I'm not afraid to die, but I am afraid of the pain and suffering." In Kaohsiung, he repeatedly talked about euthanasia with his doctor. But during the few days at the Heart Lotus Ward, both his body and mind became quiet. He was very calm and was no longer afraid of anything.

The physician alerted us that anything could happen at any time. I talked with Dad to find out whether there were any matters left unsettled before his death.

"Dad, you really scared us by sleeping so long."
"There is nothing to fear. My greatest wish is to pass away in my sleep."
"Do you feel like Uncle when he talked about gliding lightly through the air?" I recalled that once after a strange illness, my uncle had actually experienced death and that from then on he was no longer afraid of dying.
"Yes, it's just like flying on the clouds," he said laughing like a child.
"We wonder if there is anything in your life that is still unsettled and that might become an obstacle on your way."

"No, there are no more obstacles." I was relieved to hear him say this, because, detached from worldly entanglements, he now felt his life had been worthwhile. The lotus flower in his heart was blooming.

A peaceful farewell

Before Dad passed away, he donated his savings of NT$1 million to the Tzu Chi organization. As he was dying, his children and grandchildren all gathered around his bed to bid him farewell and express their gratitude to him. Master Te Ju gave him the last blessing. Sister Yen Hui-mei, director of the hospital volunteers, and Dr. Chen Shih-chi led everyone in chanting "Amitabha" for him. Ah-chun, the nurse who was like a granddaughter to him, cleaned his body and changed his clothes. Dad clearly understood that he was entering another phase of life and he left his body peacefully.

There was no loud display of grief when Dad passed away in the Heart Lotus Ward. In the formal chanting room, which can accommodate fifty to sixty people, people chanted for him for eight hours with dignity and solemnity. Throughout his stay at the hospital, his body, mind and soul had been well taken care of. From the natural, life-like expression on his face, we could tell that he had found peace. Naturally, the lotus flowers in all our hearts were blooming.