My father lived to the ripe old age of eighty-seven. For several years before his death, he suffered from cancer, but to have lived that long, it’s almost as if he had died of “natural cancer.”
The day before he passed away, my father spent three hours weeding the temple garden. The day he passed away, he rose early as always, tidied his room, and did the sweeping.
After lunch, he felt a bit dizzy and bumped his chest against the table, so he went to the hospital to get checked out. They took his blood pressure, which turned out to be abnormally low, and it was shortly after they administered an IV drip to raise his blood pressure that he passed away quietly.
To me, that is such a beautiful way to die. I don’t imagine I’ll ever live up to my father.
He was simply single-minded about living in the moment. Up until the day he passed away, he devoted himself to tending the garden, and to the utmost of his ability he tried to carry out the responsibilities he was entrusted with.
Perhaps my father had a premonition of his death. But it would have been something that only he had known.
He taught me, through his example, that the practice continues up until the moment of your death.