In spy thrillers and military adventure stories, there often comes a point where plans have to be made for an extraction. The hero has gotten in over his head and needs to be pulled out of a dangerous situation. His cover is about to be blown, or the odds against him are just too great, and the higher-ups decide his mission must be scrubbed. Sometimes he calls for the extraction himself; other times the people at headquarters make the call. Or maybe he has successfully completed his mission, and simply needs to be transported home.
It occurs to me that extraction is a useful metaphor for dying. We could look at being born as the beginning of an undercover mission, a foray into hostile territory, a dangerous assignment with an unpredictable outcome. At a certain point in any assignment, extraction becomes necessary. As with the spy or the military operative, our mission may have been completed successfully, or we may have run into insurmountable difficulties that make it impossible to continue. Maybe we make the call–there are people who seem to choose when and how they pass on, even without committing suicide in any obvious way–or maybe the call is made for us by those who have a wider perspective on the situation.
One way or the other, we are extracted–pulled out of enemy territory and escorted home.
The metaphor may take some of the sting out of the loss of a loved one. It's not that the person has “died,” in the sense of being obliterated; instead, he or she has been retrieved by the higher-ups, brought home to rest, recuperate, and assess the success (whether partial or complete) of the mission.
And there will be other missions, other assignments … and other extractions. And the game goes on.