Arms as a Place to Die

Subtitle
One cannot die in one's own arms

Introduction

In my dream, I was in the Japanese-style room of my old family home.

The dog and cat I used to keep were there.

Currently, both the dog and the cat have been cremated and are resting in a cemetery managed by my family home.

The dog was a little further away.

It didn't come toward me, nor did it disappear; it just watched me from a short distance away.

Its expression had a certain dignity and sharpness to it.

But the cat was different.

The cat approached me.

Perhaps because it hadn't been grooming itself, the suppleness typical of a cat had faded.

It was less like a cat and more like a mole.

Even though it was in the light, it looked as if half of it had already returned to the earth.

I looked at the cat and said,

"Are you still alive?"

Then the cat crawled into my arms.

And it said in human language,

"I'm glad I made it in time."

"I wonder if I can die well."

And then, as if it had used up its last strength in my arms,

Haa... haa...

it began to breathe heavily,

on the verge of passing away.

I wasn't scared at all.

The fact that the cat spoke human language, mentioned death, and was in my old home was strange, but it wasn't terrifying.

I just thought,

I see, this cat came into my arms looking for a place to die.

I said,

"Die in my arms."

That was not a command not to die.

It was not an offer to save it either.

It was a statement to end it here.

After waking from that dream, as I thought about it for a while, one question remained.

Can people die well?

And then, I realized one more thing.

That people cannot die in their own arms.

Chapter 1
If it were a cat I didn't know, it would have been a ghost story

Having woken from the dream, I was organizing what I had experienced in my mind.

If this had been a cat I didn't know, I might have felt terror.

There is a strange cat in my old family home.

That cat says in human language,

I'm glad I made it in time.

I wonder if I can die well.

It approaches me while saying that.

Moreover, its form is collapsed, more like a mole than a cat.

This is almost a ghost story.

It would have looked less like a dying cat and more like something that had borrowed the shape of a cat.

Why is it here?

Why is it talking to me?

Why is it seeking a place to die?

The moment I thought that, the dream stopped being a bedside vigil and became a supernatural encounter.

But that cat was my cat.

That is why the eeriness turned not into terror, but into a homecoming.

If it were an unknown cat, it would be an intruder.

If it were my own cat, it would be a returnee.

If it were an unknown cat, it would be a supernatural entity.

If it were my own cat, it would be a memory.

If it were an unknown cat, it would be a premonition of death.

If it were my own cat, it would be a request for a bedside vigil.

Even with the same phenomenon, the meaning changes depending on whether there is a relationship or not.

The strangeness of a cat speaking of death in human language was certainly there.

But that strangeness took on a different meaning by being placed within a relationship.

I wasn't scared not because death wasn't scary.

It wasn't because the cat wasn't eerie.

It was because that cat was an existence within a relationship.

Relationships turn eerie things into things that have returned.

Chapter 2
Dreams turn even eerie things into one's own story

However, I need to be a little skeptical here.

Dreams are sometimes convenient.

In dreams, obviously strange things proceed naturally.

Beings that should be dead appear.

I know it's my family home even though it's a place I don't know.

Things that are not human speak human language.

In a situation where I should feel terror in reality, for some reason, I am convinced.

This might be because dreams convert eerie things into a story that I can accept.

Originally, this might have just been a sign of death.

Something is approaching.

It is not human.

It is not an animal either.

Something like an incomprehensible shadow is coming toward me with death.

That is too intense.

The meaning is too exposed.

So the dream turned it into a cat.

And not an unknown cat, but the cat I used to keep at my old family home.

It placed it in the location of memory that is my old family home, positioned the dog far away, and created an atmosphere that was neither complete loneliness nor complete terror.

And finally, it created a composition where it could end in my arms.

Perhaps the opportunism of dreams is not simply about fulfilling desires.

It is about transforming things that are originally eerie into a form I can love.

Turning terror into a bedside vigil.

Turning a foreign object into a relationship.

That is also a form of salvation.

But at the same time, there is also danger.

Because dreams even pull things that cannot be understood into one's own story.

They do not leave eerie things as eerie.

They do not leave others as others.

They turn the sign of death into the story of my cat.

Therefore, it is not enough to read this dream simply as a beautiful dream of a bedside vigil.

There is a function at work where the dream converts foreign objects into my story.

Dreams are kind.

But within that kindness, there is also the violence of changing things that cannot be understood into a form that can be understood.

Chapter 3
Maybe "I wonder if I can die well" was my own voice

The cat said,

I wonder if I can die well.

At first, I heard that as the cat's words.

A dying cat came to me and asked me if it could die well.

So I answered, die in my arms.

But when I think about it, that voice might have been my own voice, borrowing the cat's voice.

Can I die well?

If I were to say this question directly, it would be too heavy.

In the dream, if I myself said,

I wonder if I can die well,

it would be too close to reality.

So the dream made the cat say it.

If it's a cat, I can hold it.

If it's a cat, I can place it in my arms.

If it's a cat, I can tell it to die here.

In other words, the dream externalized the question about death within me into the form of a cat.

Thanks to that, I was able to stand on the side of the one watching over, not the one dying.

I think this is important.

If I had completely identified with the dying side in the dream, I wouldn't be able to come back.

But if I stand on the side of the one watching over, I can return to the side that is still living.

I think about death.

But I do not become death itself.

I hold the one who is dying.

But I am not the one dying.

The cat is myself and also an other.

That is why I can hold it.

That is why I can see it off.

That is why I can return to reality.

In this dream, the cat made me a parent.

However, that was not all.

The cat was also the part of me that asks, I wonder if I can die well.

By holding that cat, I might have been trying to hold the part of myself that I cannot hold on my own.

Chapter 4
One cannot die in one's own arms

Here, I run into a fact.

People cannot die in their own arms.

I can hold my own shoulders with my own hands.

I can place my hands on my chest.

I can curl my body when I am cold and take a posture that protects myself.

But I cannot hold myself like I hold another.

At the moment of my death, I cannot make my own arms a place to die.

That is because my arms are part of my own body.

I can comfort myself.

I can encourage myself.

I can take on my own loneliness to a certain extent.

But I cannot watch over my own death.

The moment I cross the final line of death, I cannot confirm it.

It is an other who sees me dead.

It is an other who carries my dead body.

It is an other who records my dead name.

It is an other who takes on the absence of my dead self.

Therefore, while death is my own, in the end, it passes to an other.

Here lies the fundamental otherness of human death.

Living can be done alone to a certain extent.

I can eat alone.

I can sleep alone.

I can work alone, think alone, and walk alone.

But death cannot be closed alone.

I cannot die in my own arms.

That is why people need others at the very end.

Chapter 5
Otherness follows even in solitary death

People fear solitary death.

I think that is a fear that exists in many people, whether conscious or unconscious.

To die without being found by anyone.

To die without being watched over by anyone.

To end all alone, without anyone's voice, without anyone's hands.

However, in modern society, solitary death is not completely without others.

The moment of death might be alone.

But after death, one cannot be alone.

Because humans leave their bodies behind even after they die.

The body occupies space.

It emits an odor.

It decomposes.

It affects someone's living sphere.

Contracts, rentals, family registers, insurance, inheritance, cremation, notifications.

Even after death, the body is processed within society.

The apartment landlord comes.

The police come.

A doctor confirms the death.

An undertaker carries it.

The municipal office records it.

In some cases, special cleaning is involved.

In other words, human death, even if it is a solitary death, does not conclude completely alone.

It always passes into someone's hands.

What is important here is that there is otherness even in solitary death.

However, that otherness can sometimes become processing rather than a bedside vigil.

Herein lies the true terror of solitary death.

The reason solitary death is scary is not because no one comes after death.

Rather, someone does come.

But that someone might receive my death not as a relationship, but as a case.

The name is confirmed.

The address is also confirmed.

The time of death is also estimated.

Documents are also created.

The body is also carried.

It is also cremated.

But there,

Are you still alive?

There might be no voice calling out like that.

Die in my arms.

There might be no place to say that.

The terror of solitary death is not the terror of complete lack of others.

I think it is the terror that my death is not received as a relationship, but is collected as a process.

Chapter 6
Institutions can recover a body, but arms receive an existence

Institutional others are necessary.

Landlords, police, doctors, undertakers, municipal offices.

The people involved in these roles are each doing the work that is required.

They do not leave the body of the deceased unattended.

They confirm the death.

They record it.

They transport it.

They cremate it.

They carry out the remaining procedures.

While this may seem cold, it is also a mechanism for society to ensure the deceased is not completely abandoned.

Therefore, one should not take institutions lightly.

Even if no one loves them, society does not leave a corpse unattended.

Even if no one cries, someone will confirm it.

Even if no one is there to witness the end, someone will record it.

Even when humans fall out of relationships, they are picked up by institutions.

This is an important thing.

However, it is not enough for a person to simply be picked up by an institution.

This is because, while an institution can recover a body, it cannot receive an existence.

Institutions process death.

Arms ensure death is not lonely.

Institutions record a name.

Arms call out, "You."

Institutions transport a body.

Arms hold a broken form.

Institutions complete death socially.

Arms receive death within a relationship.

This difference is significant.

What people seek is not merely to be processed after death.

It is not enough for one's death to simply become someone's task.

It is for one's end to be passed into someone's arms.

At the very least, to be passed into someone's memories, words, or relationships.

In that, people see salvation somewhere.

That is why people fear dying alone.

It is not just about the act of dying itself.

They fear that their end will not be in someone's arms, but will become someone's business.

Chapter 7
A place to die is a relationship to which one can finally entrust oneself

The cat in the dream was not seeking to be processed after death.

The cat came before it died.

It came to me while it was still alive.

And it said,

"I'm glad I made it in time."

"I wonder if I can die well."

This "I'm glad I made it in time" is important.

It did not mean it made it in time for post-mortem processing.

It did not mean it made it in time for cremation.

It did not mean it made it in time to be discovered.

It meant it made it in time to return to a relationship while still alive.

It made it in time to still be called by its name as a cat.

It made it in time to be passed into arms.

Dying well is not just about dying without suffering.

It is not about dying without causing trouble.

It is not about disappearing quietly.

It is not about ending in a beautiful state.

Perhaps dying well means being able to properly entrust one's death to someone.

A place to die is not a piece of land.

It is not an address.

It is not a building.

It is not a hospital, a house, a futon, or a grave.

A place to die is a relationship where one can place one's broken self at the end.

And arms are the smallest unit of that.

Arms are smaller than a house.

Smaller than a room.

Smaller than a futon.

Smaller than a grave.

Yet, they have enough space for a single life to end.

Arms are not a place to stop death.

They are not a place to erase death.

They are not a place to postpone death.

Arms are a place to ensure death is not lonely.

Conclusion

The cat in the dream was about to die.

Yet, it looked somewhat happy.

Why?

Perhaps because it had been found.

Because it was called while it was still alive.

Because it was allowed to return even in its broken state.

And because it had gained arms as a place to die.

The cat did not ask me for help.

It came to ask if it was okay to return here at the end.

And I answered,

"Die in my arms."

That was not a word that permitted death.

It was a word that meant I would not let it be lonely.

People cannot die in their own arms.

One's own death cannot be completed by oneself alone.

Death always passes to another.

Sometimes that is family.

Sometimes it is a friend.

Sometimes it is a lover.

Sometimes it is a doctor.

Sometimes it is the police.

Sometimes it is an undertaker.

Sometimes it is a municipal official.

Human death always carries an element of otherness.

The question is whether that otherness manifests as processing or as a relationship.

Of course, institutional processing is also necessary.

Humans die within society.

Therefore, one cannot completely escape post-mortem procedures.

However, that alone is not enough.

At the very last moment, people seek someone's arms.

That does not necessarily mean physical arms.

It might be a voice calling one's name.

It might be a memory.

It might be words.

It might be a prayer.

But there is always someone there who is not oneself.

"I wonder if I can die well."

That question can be rephrased as:

"Will my death be properly passed on to someone?"

"Die in my arms."

That response can be rephrased as:

"I will receive your death not as processing, but as a relationship."

The cat in the dream probably knew that.

That is why, even though it was about to die, it looked happy.