Your most poignant moment in life

[Topper]

not that you might wish to describe it here. Perhaps you would.

Was it something of a personal, intimate interaction?
Was it spiritual?
Was it something else?

Without describing the most poignant, a brief vision into face of a sobbing father, who had lost his son shortly before the son was to leave for a mission, looking into his wife's almost deadened eyes, strikes me as one of the poignant moments which never fades.

In my humble opinion, these moments keep us humble and human, in touch with our humanity.

Any others worth sharing, not too personal?

[clackamascoug]

The Doctor was quiet. The Nurses were quiet, and then we heard a nurse whisper to the doctor. "Possible Trisomy 21." "I concur" said the Doctor.

[Topper]

The Doctor was quiet. The Nurses were quiet, and then we heard a nurse whisper to the doctor. "Possible Trisomy 21." "I concur" said the Doctor.

That's a wow.

[Jarid in Cedar]

On three occasions, lifting a perfect appearing infant out of a uterus. One that was in the process of dying, that died. One that was dead but revived and is 5 years old heading to kindergarten. And one that had died sometime the night beforehand. Each of those three events changed me in ways that cannot be described very well.

[Commando]

yikes. The thread designed to be a downer.

What's the one moment you stared death in the eyeball and realized for the first time that life is pointless? Discuss.

[Jarid in Cedar]

yikes. The thread designed to be a downer.

What's the one moment you stared death in the eyeball and realized for the first time that life is pointless? Discuss.

I quite disagree. Each event taught me more about the value of life. The value that someones life has to other people. That the limitations of human expertise can be overcome by the endless power of human empathy, sympathy, and the soul.

[Commando]

I quite disagree. Each event taught me more about the value of life. The value that someones life has to other people. That the limitations of human expertise can be overcome by the endless power of human empathy, sympathy, and the soul.

I guess I was just thinking about my own experiences and what I gained as a result of the question posed by the thread. Assuming nothing about your experiences and your interpretation thereof, of course.

[Jarid in Cedar]

I guess I was just thinking about my own experiences and what I gained as a result of the question posed by the thread. Assuming nothing about your experiences and your interpretation thereof, of course.

Gotcha

[wuapinmon]

October 30, 2007, Emory Hospital, Atlanta Georgia. My father lay dying in a persistent vegetative state from Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease (human spongiform encephalopathy). He had a massive subdural hematoma, was in kidney failure, liver failure, on a respirator, and a feeding tube. His body began to "not tolerate dialysis." My mother, paralysed by the fear of losing the person she had lived with since she married him at 18 could not act. I had to tell the physician to end all life support for my father, and I watched him with my siblings and mom and some cousins for the next three hours continue living without any life support, until finally his heart couldn't take it (his pulse was about 25-30 bpm for an hour) and he expired.

I voiced the command to end the life of the man who gave me life. It was inevitable, but I chose that moment, and that decision has burdened my soul ever since. My wife kept our small children (ages 5 and 1) away from the hospital. When I got back to the hotel room, I grabbed them all and hugged them and cried so long and so hard that I was in physical pain from the sobs.

But, the most poignant moment for me was going to my parents house the next day, pulling into the driveway, looking into my father's Ford Explorer and seeing a McDonald's 22 oz drink and a hashbrown wrapper on the passenger seat from the last time he drove himself somewhere. Just sitting there. He never knew he was sick, that he was dying. He ate his hashbrowns and sipped his Diet Coke with satisfaction, master of the road and his fate. I collapsed in the driveway among the mud and pinestraw of that Georgia Fall, and I cried the tears of loss, of guilt, and of the loss of innocence. We'll all be in the ground soon enough, and I remind myself of this often so that I don't miss opportunities for myself, my spouse, and my children to find joy, learn things, and make memories. None of us are the masters of our fates.

[Northwestcoug]

Wow. This is a very sobering thread. But good. I'm not sure if I've had similar moments in life. Not sure if I want to.

[Pheidippides]

There are three moments that I will never forget as long as I will live.

The first is a visage of a woman wracked with tears and torment, lovingly brushing the golden hair of her young daughter who had passed on five minutes earlier as she lay on the hospital bed, finally untethered from the machines that artificially bound her, showing a wisdom and grace far beyond the woman's years.

The second is of the woman's father in law as he came into that same hospital room an hour later, a powerful man, a strong and oft unemotional man, of him collapsing in a heap on the floor, unable to stand because of his grief, and his son - the girl's father - literally lifting him up to desperately try to provide a strength and support the son neither felt
nor had other than in visage.

The last is the son himself the next morning, exhausted and overwhelmed at trying to be a pillar of refuge for others, collapsing in the shower, his soul as naked and exposed as his body, and weeping violently, but doing so in order to step out cleansed body and soul for another few hours so he could again try to show a strength he didn't have for the benefit of those who needed him to have it.

[Portland Ute]

October 30, 2007, Emory Hospital, Atlanta Georgia. My father lay dying in a persistent vegetative state from Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease (human spongiform encephalopathy). He had a massive subdural hematoma, was in kidney failure, liver failure, on a respirator, and a feeding tube. His body began to "not tolerate dialysis." My mother, paralysed by the fear of losing the person she had lived with since she married him at 18 could not act. I had to tell the physician to end all life support for my father, and I watched him with my siblings and mom and some cousins for the next three hours continue living without any life support, until finally his heart couldn't take it (his pulse was about 25-30 bpm for an hour) and he expired.

I voiced the command to end the life of the man who gave me life. It was inevitable, but I chose that moment, and that decision has burdened my soul ever since. My wife kept our small children (ages 5 and 1) away from the hospital. When I got back to the hotel room, I grabbed them all and hugged them and cried so long and so hard that I was in physical pain from the sobs.

But, the most poignant moment for me was going to my parents house the next day, pulling into the driveway, looking into my father's Ford Explorer and seeing a McDonald's 22 oz drink and a hashbrown wrapper on the passenger seat from the last time he drove himself somewhere. Just sitting there. He never knew he was sick, that he was dying. He ate his hashbrowns and sipped his Diet Coke with satisfaction, master of the road and his fate. I collapsed in the driveway among the mud and pinestraw of that Georgia Fall, and I cried the tears of loss, of guilt, and of the loss of innocence. We'll all be in the ground soon enough, and I remind myself of this often so that I don't miss opportunities for myself, my spouse, and my children to find joy, learn things, and make memories. None of us are the masters of our fates.

Wuap, this is powerful. Thanks.

[Topper]

There are three moments that I will never forget as long as I will live.

The first is a visage of a woman wracked with tears and torment, lovingly brushing the golden hair of her young daughter who had passed on five minutes earlier as she lay on the hospital bed, finally untethered from the machines that artificially bound her, showing a wisdom and grace far beyond the woman's years.

The second is of the woman's father in law as he came into that same hospital room an hour later, a powerful man, a strong and oft unemotional man, of him collapsing in a heap on the floor, unable to stand because of his grief, and his son - the girl's father - literally lifting him up to desperately try to provide a strength and support the son neither felt
nor had other than in visage.

The last is the son himself the next morning, exhausted and overwhelmed at trying to be a pillar of refuge for others, collapsing in the shower, his soul as naked and exposed as his body, and weeping violently, but doing so in order to step out cleansed body and soul for another few hours so he could again try to show a strength he didn't have for the benefit of those who needed him to have it.

Both yours and wuap's are quite moving. I am speculating you are the son, but if not, thanks for sharing. I have not let my guard enough to share one which still pains me, but this one is quite moving, Nikuman.

[wuapinmon]

Both yours and wuap's are quite moving. I am speculating you are the son, but if not, thanks for sharing. I have not let my guard enough to share one which still pains me, but this one is quite moving, Nikuman.

Yeah, nik's is far worse than anything I went through, though I think I caught a glimpse of it when I was giving the eulogy at my dad's funeral. I looked at my grandma, her eyes glistening like diamonds under a spotlight, tears wearing courses down her face as she clutched my grandfather's hand and looked at me while choking back her sobs. If one of my children died......the thought is too horrid to finish.

[Non Sequitur]

A few years ago in a hospital bed, my surgeon telling me the pathology was back and that I had a lymphoma. I asked if that meant cancer and he said yes and that he had set up an appointment for me with an oncologist. Then he was gone. Just me and a nurse. She looked at me and said, "Wow, that was cold." It only takes a minute to change a life.