August 8 weekend 2025 spirituality column

Plan to Live or Plan to Die

In 2015, I was serving as a hospital chaplain at St. Joseph Hospital in Stockton, California. My job could be a bit overwhelming as my Catholic employer required their chaplains to visit every newly-admitted patient.

So, as I approached the end of my shift one afternoon, I was in a hurry as I pushed open the last door on the 3^rd floor ward.

That's where I found an elderly female patient lying in a darkened room. I spoke to her, but she seemed to be under heavy sedation. Since I couldn't offer much support, I made a retreat pivot in hopes of ending a long day.

But, my exit was blocked by the lanky silhouette of an elderly man standing in the doorway.

"Hello," I said, "I'm Norris Burkes, the hospital chaplain."

The man moved across the room to greet me, introducing himself with a broad smile. I don't remember his name, but his demeanor brought "Mr. Rogers" to mind.

Mr. Rogers told me the patient was Mrs. Rogers and proceeded to tell her story.

She was 75, he 86. It was their second marriage and he'd tried to make her happy during their ten-years of matrimony, but from the beginning it seemed to him that she was prepping herself to die.

She'd struggled with frequent doctor visits for a bad back, memory issues, and poor eyesight. "It's as if," he said, "she was always searching for something more serious, like she needed a better reason to die."

"Depression can hit hard in the elderly," I said.

Mr. Rogers nodded at my conjecture, so I said more.

"I see you've decided to make her a DNR," referring to the medical order "Do Not Resuscitate." Since it's part of the job to clarify DNR to families, I added, "So if her heart stopped right now, we would do nothing to restart it."

"Yup. She states that preference in her living will."

Hoping to affirm their choice, I added, "It's good that she planned for this moment."

"I suppose it's a good idea to plan for death, but my wife seemed to be always trying to make death her plan," he said. "All she talked about was dying."

"If you're not planning to live, you are planning to die," he quipped.

Still aware that I was hearing a one-sided story about my patient, my sympathies tipped toward Mr. Rogers. He seemed fit, certain and thriving. Even with his own death likely close, he proclaimed to be living his life to the fullest.

After about twenty minutes, we both began walking to the door, ending our visit.

"Do you drive yourself here?" I asked.

"No, no." he said.

Oh, good," I said, expecting he'd long given up driving.

"I have a car, but home is just four miles away."

I squinted to find clarity in his answer.

"I rode my bike here. I only drive if it's raining."

Suddenly, the man's life philosophy came into sharper focus.

I had stopped riding my bike a few years previous out of safety concerns, but this octogenarian wasn't planning on braking his bike—or his life. He was still going full speed.

Looking back on that visit now, Mr. Rogers' influence on my life is clear.

Within a year of meeting him, my wife and I sold our house to embark on three years of travel. While we are back into home ownership, I've never forgotten Mr. Rogers' inspiration to keep planning for life and accept death only when it finally comes.

By the way, I'm back on a bike again. It's an e-bike, but it's getting me down the road.

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