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The tools of Jane Hughes Gignoux '52's trade look deceptively simple: glue
sticks, cutout magazine pictures, books to read aloud, markers, and paper.
But these supplies, which could be found in any elementary school classroom, are
what Gignoux uses to assist people in making death a "friend." When
she is not writing or lecturing or working one-on-one with clients, Gignoux
leads workshops on death and dying. Since 1999, she has worked in
hospitals, bookstores, healing centers, churches, and even a low-security
prison, sharing stories about life and death, all in an effort to alleviate
people's natural fears about the inevitable. That same year she wrote and
published a book, Some Folk Say: Stories of Life,
Death, and Beyond, a sampling of folktales from cultures around the
world, which has become a source of comfort for people confronting some of
life's most daunting questions. "Once you've looked at death you can live
so much more freely," she says. And why not face mortality head
on? "Do you know anyone who gets out of this life alive?" Although
she has become known primarily for her work counseling people on issues related
to death (she was called in as an advisor for the readers guide that accompanied
last year's Bill Moyers' special, "On Our Own Terms: Moyer on Dying"),
Gignoux is anything but morbid. At 70, with silver hair and lively green
eyes, she is the type who can top an outfit with a bold scarf and an elegant
straw hat. In her spare time she goes white-water canoeing, a hobby she
took up 11 years ago. In her workshops, titled "Embrace
Life, Death, and Beyond," participants consider a range of
questions. Among them: What happens after death? What is the soul? How
should approach death? But the most common question, asked in various
forms, is, Why am I so afraid of dying? Scary as the topic is for many people,
Gignoux approaches it in a comfortable, even soothing, manner. During her
workshops she plays recorded harp or piano music, reads poetry and stories
aloud, and gently encourages people to contemplate their lives and losses.
She asks them to write their own obituaries, make memorials to loved ones they
have lost, and pen letters to people who have died. "I invite people to
participate as fully as they can," Gignoux says. "I tell them to
approach the workshop the way a child approaches kindergarten. Children
don't analyze, they just go in and play with the blocks and with the
paints." And so she hands out scissors and glue and suggests that
participants make collages out of their lives and dreams. She'll often
read the group a story from her book or another source. In one recent
workshop, a woman told Gignoux that not knowing what happens after death deeply
troubles her. Gignoux read her a folktale about a man who falls into a icy
river and is at first terrified by his imminent death, but eventually finds
himself being reborn into a familiar setting. This story, from the Tlingit
people of Alaska, comforted the woman. "She hadn't found anything
else that was reassuring to her, and that was very hard," Gignoux said. Reading
her book which is filled with colorful illustrations, one feels wrapped in
Gignoux's accepting attitude about death. Included are an ancient Egyptian
poem in which the speaker prepares the deceased for for death as a journey; a
Native American story that hints at reincarnation; and a Buddhist story in which
the afterlife is different for each individual and can include jewel trees,
flowers, and various other "delights." Gignoux was four years old
when she was first confronted with death. Her mother died of
pneumonia. But there were no comforting stories to read. In fact,
the issue was hardly addressed at all. "Occasionally we visited her
grave, had a picnic there and prayed," she said. "But it was
never spoken about." While this was a cataclysmic event in her life,
it did not set her on her career path, Gignoux says. Instead, it
was her physical environment that prepared her to ponder life's biggest
questions. Her father was the headmaster of the Cathedral Choir School at
the Cathedral of St. John the Devine in New York, and Gignoux recalls childhood
days spent climbing the church's spiral staircases and wandering below its 162
foot-high dome. "It was like my sandbox," she says. The
cavernous architecture of a building whose very walls seemed to be yearning
upward toward the divine seems to have left its mark on Gignoux's mind. At
Smith, she majored in theater and was enrolled in one of the last classes taught
by Halle Flanagan Davis, who was then in her final years as chair of the
department and was known for her visionary thinking and her efforts to broaden
the boundaries of the theater. In Halle Flanagan Davis, Gignoux found a
teacher who reinforced her expansive way of looking at the world. "I
resonated very much with her way of seeing things," Gignoux recalled.
"I also tend to see things from a very large vantage point. I stand
back millions of miles." After graduating from Smith, Gignoux taught
drama and then started a puppet show business while raising her four
children. But it would be decades before she found a subject broad enough
to suit her far-reaching vision. She was in her forties and clinging to an
unhealthy marriage when she found herself in the position to save another
woman's life - an encounter she now says helped her save her own. In the
summer of 1973, Gignoux was passing the afternoon with friends at the Rhode
Island seashore. While out for a swim, one of the woman in her party was
pulled under water. Gignoux attempted to swim her to safety, but the
undertow was relentless. Finally , exhausted and discouraged, she heard
what she describes as a small calm voice in her head saying, "You're going
to have to let go of her." Nonetheless, she continued her rescue
attempt, and succeeded in carrying the woman safely onto some nearby
rocks. "I was shocked at that voice," she says now.
"It was really saying that you can't take care of other people if you're
not taking care of yourself." For Gignoux, taking care of herself meant
leaving her marriage and moving from the suburbs back to New York City.
Soon after, she received a mailing about a conference on spirituality and
decided to attend. "I was in a place of exploring. I was
looking for deeper meaning," she says. That conference, and various
other workshops she attended, led her to a serious investigation into
spirituality and healing, which in turn led her to her current pursuits. Not
surprisingly, Gignoux says she is not afraid to die, but she is prepared.
She has written her health care proxy and living will, and last year she typed a
letter to her children detailing what she would like to have happen when she
dies, as well as her hope that they will approach the event with a friendly,
caring attitude. "People have such basic questions about death." she
says, quickly admitting she doesn't have all the answers. Instead, she
goes with what she has learned about life. "In the end the most
important thing is just to love one another. That's all that
matters."
TZIVIA
GOVER is a writer and editor in western Massachusetts Reprinted
from: Smith Alumnae Quarterly, Summer 2001
'Go Gentle into that Good Night'
FoulkeTale Publishing
201 West 89th Street, Suite 7H
New York, NY 10024-1848
janehg@lifedeathbeyond.com