Monday, October 22, 2018

Life, Death and Autumn Leaves



My life revolves around death.  I live through the grief and trauma of death every day that I work. And on days I'm not working death still permeates my life. Death has seeped into my skin. It sits with me as I make coffee. It rests on my shoulder as browse Pinterest. It walks beside me as I feed the chickens. And it presses into me as I get the mail. I'm not dying (at least not any more than we all are) but I am constantly reminded that death waits for us all and no one is exempt.

I've done a lot of inner work around death. It's a necessary part of my being. This inner work keeps me living as I help others grieve. I meditate, study buddhism, and train in compassion. I'm not a particularly religious person but I do delve into fantasy about what happens after we die; I love the principles of universal energy and the idea of reincarnation.

Recently I euthanized a cat; a sweet creature whose kidneys had shut down after a monumental battle. This cat's owner was deeply religious and she had come to peace with her decision. Then she said something that startled me. She said that, though she loved her cat, she knew her cat did not have a soul. Thus euthanasia was okay.

I understand that these were the words of a grieving woman. And I hope her belief helps her to navigate life without her kitty. But I must respectfully disagree. If anything has a soul it is animals. Perhaps, though, she has never looked into the eyes of a great horned owl and seen the world inside. Perhaps, then, she'd change her mind.

But I digress. On Friday someone in our circle passed away. Someone we knew was ill but didn't expect to be gone so soon. Someone our age. My husband called me at work to break the news.

Now death follows me like a loyal dog; I can't even go to the bathroom alone. But for my husband it is different. Death stays sleeping in the corner and it's easy enough for him to forget that it's even there, lying quietly in wait. So when death showed up it was a shock and a surprise. My husband was bawling.

I had a long weekend of work ahead. Emotionally wrought cases. People with anxiety and fear. Lives to be pulled from the brink and lives to release to the ether. So I took the news and tucked it into my pocket. I shoved it deep and did my best to ignore the news.

But this morning? This morning was different. I had the day off and started by reading some poetry. Then I listened to music. And I cracked wide open. Because death remains random and impossible to understand. Why one person and not another? Is there a universal plan? And what about his family? How are they to cope with this grief?

Needless to say I spent some time crying in the shower, listening to music and singing through my tears. And the big question remained. How best can we honor those that have passed?

Here's what I've come up with. We need to live our best lives. This doesn't mean standing on a cliff wearing a perfectly coifed dress which romantically flutters during a highly manufactured instagram moment.  Rather it means finding the beauty in EVERY day. No matter what the day or where you are.

Let the sun shine brightly through the windows of the car during your commute. Watch the birds migrate through the sky. Pull over by your favorite trees and crunch through the fallen leaves. Stop and smell the flowers. Take a bath. Hug more and longer. Forgive. Hold hands. Tell people how truly beautiful they are. Do all these things and then some. Because only this day, this moment, is a given. And nothing else is guaranteed.



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When Death Comes


When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world

2 comments:

Red House Gal said...

You said all of the things I’ve felt about death this year. I lost a close friend in January, my cousin in June and held John as he sobbed on both Thursday and Friday. We will never know when this earthly existence will end, but all I can make sense of is appreciating how precious the moments are, laughing at yourself, forgiving, holding tight and practicing gratitude. Love to you and John as you mourn and grieve.

Shalet said...

Love to you too my friend. It’s been a tough week.