By Cliff Garvey

Paul Kalanithi was born in the shadow of New York City and grew up in the deserts of Arizona. He graduated with honors from Stanford University and Yale Medical School. He was a promising neurosurgeon, scientist, and writer. He was an avid cyclist, hiker, and runner. He was a beloved husband, father, and son. He was looking forward to a long, productive, and happy life. But last year, at age 37, Paul Kalanithi died from a rare form of metastatic lung cancer. In the months before his death, Dr. Kalanithi wrote a memoir about his life and illness entitled, “When Breath Becomes Air”, which has been on the New York Times Bestseller List for much of this year. The book is breathtaking in its honesty, heartbreaking in its description of a life cut short by illness, and profound in its exploration of the meaning of human life, whether it is long or short.

Although I am a voracious reader, I rarely read books like this one. Having lost an uncle to a long illness and a dear friend to a sudden illness, I get it: life is precious; life is short; life is unpredictable. And as a Catholic Christian and “Franciscan in Spirit”, I appreciate that there’s more to life than ambition and affluence; there’s more to life than prestige and publicity; there’s more to life than professional sports, cable news, and reality television. But for some reason, Paul Kalanithi’s book called out to me. I read articles about it in magazines and newspapers; read reviews on Catholic websites; and watched an interview with the author online. After being urged to read the book by a fellow spiritual director who thought it might help with my ministry, I relented and read the book twice in a single weekend.

In short, “When Breath Becomes Air” is a masterpiece and its author was more than a man of science. Paul Kalanithi was a man of great courage and wisdom. And his story teaches us a great deal about life and death. From childhood through adulthood, Dr. Kalanithi was preoccupied with questions about the meaning and purpose of human life. He read widely: literature, poetry, and science. He thought deeply about life and death, sickness and health, sacrifice and suffering. He journeyed from belief to disbelief to belief again. He experienced true love, personal and professional success, fatherhood and friendship, and the pain and suffering of terminal illness.

Through it all, Paul Kalanithi discovered that life’s meaning can be found in relationship with others: with those we love and with those we serve. Before he died, Dr. Kalanithi rediscovered his Christian faith. And during a period of remission, he returned to the practice of neurosurgery and wrote eloquently about his innate human vocation to reach out, to love, and to serve. While helping others carry the heavy cross of illness and injury while he himself was carrying that same heavy burden, he wrote: “In taking up another’s cross, one must sometimes get crushed by the weight.”

Although that may sound pessimistic, it is not. Despite his illness, Dr. Paul Kalanithi lived into death by one simple maxim: “I can’t go on. I will go on.” For his life and example, and for his perseverance and wisdom, we should thank God for Paul Kalanithi. And we should pray for the courage and grace to take up our cross, to carry it, and to reach out to others even if we might get crushed by the weight. Because it is in being crushed by love (and loss) that we find meaning and purpose. And it is in being crushed that we find a love that lasts beyond life and death, and into eternal life.

May the Lord give you peace, now and always!
Cliff

Cliff Garvey
Associate Minister
Catholic Community of Gloucester & Rockport
Contact: cgarvey@ccgronline.com

CCGR Weekly Newsletter (10-9-16)
Bringing Home the Word (10-9-16)

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Knights of Columbus
Second Annual Golf Tournament
Friday, October 14th