Tag: death

Another Word For It

“People may call what happens at midlife “a crisis”, but it’s not. It’s an unravelling- a time when you feel a desperate pull to live the life you want to live, not the one you’re “supposed” to live. The unravelling is a time when you are challenged by the universe to let go of who you think you are supposed to be and to embrace who you are.” – Brené Brown

I believe that I truly started “unravelling” when I turned 40 and the Great Recession started the ball rolling for me, in a big way. Unravelling can be painful, but it can also be so liberating. And it’s funny, we sometimes smugly think that we get to a point of being completely “unravelled”, but then we realize that we still get all tangled and tied up in knots, reminding us that we still have a long ways to go.

Our middle son is in medical school, and we were Facetiming with him last night. He is currently working and learning in the Crisis Trauma Unit in a major hospital in a major city in our country. He has seen and witnessed more in a few weeks than I hope to ever experience in my lifetime. (Those of you who are in the medical arts, thank you for heeding your calling. Thank you for putting your incredible talents towards the healing of others. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.) I asked our son last night if anything really unnerved him the most about his experience. Was there anything that really gave him pause, more than anything else that he had experienced? He told me that it was surreal to see a patient die who had been all “done up” for the day. Their makeup was in place, and their nails were freshly done. It struck him deeply that they had no idea that this would be their last day alive on Earth.

Maybe we are all just balls of yarn, unravelling. We will unravel until we come to the end of our own line of string. Our string gets intertwined and tangled up with others, throughout the days of our own unravelling, making patterns and connections, and then sometimes it rolls on, in a line, all by itself. We have no idea when or where our own ball of string ends, so we may as well enjoy our own unravelling. We may as well get all made up, get a manicure, and roll on with our days with purpose and curiosity and gusto, until one day, much to our own surprise, we reach the end of our string. We are completely unravelled. We are no longer twisted in knots. Our own unique line has been added to the blanket of Life. And we are free.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

2319. Do you prefer vertical or horizontal stripes?

Bigger Than You

I’m sorry to be delayed with today’s post. I’m grappling with a pinched-nerve in my neck which is like having the worst toothache that I ever had, in my neck and in my shoulder. I am sorry for those of you who deal with daily pain for years on end. Pain is so miserable and distracting and annoying.

The above video is part of the best scene from Babylon, a movie which we watched last night. Babylon is about the change from silent films to “talkies”, and it takes place in 1920s/30s Hollywood. The movie is not for the faint of heart. It shows the debauchery and the underbelly of early Hollywood like you would never expect. The film is long (3 hours), but I found it be interesting and entertaining and thought provoking.

The scene above is a monologue from Jean Smart, who plays a notorious gossip columnist who has just written an unflattering feature about Jack Conrad (played by Brad Pitt), a washed up, silent films era star. In the scene, Jean Smart’s character is telling Jack that while he is no longer “spotlight” material, the beautiful thing is that he will live on, indefinitely, in the films that he starred in, for generations to come. At the end of the scene, where Jean Smart’s character tells Jack that his time is up in Hollywood, and there is nothing that he did to create this fact, and there is nothing that he can do about it now, we see Jack Conrad leave the room, disquieted but grateful that the gossip columnist gently but firmly told him the truth. “Thank you for that,” he says, almost under his breath.

I appreciated this scene so much because it so clearly depicts when any of us hear “a truth” that we deeply know, but we have not yet let this truth surface to our consciousness. We don’t want this truth to be the truth, but yet when we finally face the truth, we are also grateful and relieved to no longer have to pretend anymore, that it is anything other that what it is. It is what it is, is the ultimate truth about anything when we finally face it head on. And the truth can be so painful, and yet so liberating all at the same time.

This scene in Babylon is the ultimate scene of letting go of ego, and of realizing that the idea of life is bigger than any individual life in it, even the lives that are lived out in the spotlight. Life has gone on longer than any of us can fathom, and it will continue to go on, long after each of us departs. Towards the end of the scene Elinor St. John (played by Jean Smart) says this:

” . . . It’s the idea that sticks. There will be a hundred more Jack Conrads, a hundred more me’s, a hundred more conversations like this one, until God knows when. Because it’s bigger than you.”

Elinor does leave Jack with a hopeful thought about people seeing his movies long after he is dead, and in that regard, his memory lives on. On a broader scope, that’s how anyone of us continues to live on after our deaths, for generations and generations in families, and in close groups of friends, and even in societies. Our stories become lores and legends. Our mannerisms become traits in family genes. Our habits and rituals become customs and traditions. Our creations and treasures become heirlooms and antiques and springboards for more creation. The ideas of any essence is what sticks. “That which is bigger than us”, never ends. We are each just small waves of an endless/timeless ocean, and this truth is both frightening and liberating in equal measure. It is what it is.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Musings

credit: weheartit.com

We have had a fair amount of death and dying and serious illnesses in our extended family in the last year or so. There is nothing that makes you reflect on your own life and how you live it, like someone else’s death. Yesterday, I wrote about going through my old daily journals from this past decade. I also went through my prayer box. (When I tell you that I love to write, I’m not lying. I am always looking for excuses to write more stuff down.) Yesterday, I opened up all of the little papers in my prayer box, and I can honestly tell you that already 90 percent of my prayers in my prayer box have been answered, and these answered desires exist in my life today. (Time for me to get crackin’ on some more desires, wishes and prayers.) Gratitude is living the life that you prayed for, and being in awe of the miraculous process of how it all comes into being. Gratitude is taking the pause to say thanks and to feel that thankfulness from your deepest depths.

Another thing that I have been deeply pondering lately is the worth of my time. Recently I got back in touch with a good friend from my past, whom I have always felt an instant kinship to, any time that we meet. The last time that we reconnected with each other was in this past December and I hadn’t seen nor spoken to her in over ten years before then, and yet it was like I had just seen her yesterday. Don’t you just love relationships like these? We both raised our kids in the old-fashioned traditional way, where our husbands were the main breadwinners and we were the family managers, mostly staying at home, with just odd part-time jobs here or there. (She has three kids. I have four.) Earlier this week, I texted her to see if we could connect today on a call, and I asked if she would be available around 11 a.m. She wryly replied that she would pencil me in. I got a kick out of her reaction. (We’ve always laughed together a lot.) Still, it made me realize how much more protective of my own time I’ve become, especially lately as my kids have grown, and they have left the nest.

My morning process of reading and writing and meditating and being alone with my thoughts is extremely valuable to me. I don’t get paid to do it, but it is my vocation. It feels like it is a big part of my purpose in life, and it is a deeply meaningful part of my everyday life. How my morning goes, often has a lot to do with how the rest of my day goes afterwards. So honestly, unless it is urgent or dire, I don’t allow anything to creep into my mornings. I do my best to not have any morning appointments with anybody. I treat MY TIME every bit as importantly as if I were a CEO with a tight schedule. Why should someone’s time only be considered important and uninterruptible if they are getting paid to do whatever fits into that time slot? I am the CEO of my own life, after all.

For years in raising my family, everybody else’s schedule was the priority. If something needed to be dropped, it was usually some activity of mine. And that’s okay. I signed up for the job of family manager and I did what I needed to do to make things run smoothly and effectively, as well as I could. But my family is grown now, and I am prioritizing myself more. Interestingly, I’ve noticed surprised reactions from my friends and my family when I keep my boundaries around scheduling phone calls and visits. I believe that planning ahead for calls shows respect for my time, and also for theirs. Time is everyone’s greatest treasure. If anything death has shown me in this last year, is that our time on Earth is not replenishable. I value my time, and I value your time. Every minute that we give to actions, and to others, is a little chunk of treasure from our own unreplenishable treasure chests, filled with little chunks of our time to live. Shouldn’t we be clear and conscious of who and what we are giving our treasure to, every single day of our lives? When I volunteered for different things throughout the years, I noticed that people were thankful and respectful of my time that I was volunteering to give. I didn’t get paid for that time either, but people didn’t take that time of mine for granted. Maybe that is why so many of us get fulfillment from volunteering. There are little expectations and great appreciation when you are willing to give your time away to a cause.

If we look at every minute of our days as little chunks of gold from the one treasure chest that we get in this lifetime (and mysteriously, none of us know until the very end, how many of these little chunks are actually in our individual treasure chests of time), we get a whole lot more careful about where we give it away. Our time is more valuable than our money, than our possessions, than even our relationships, because without our time, we don’t exist. Spend your time consciously, wisely and gratefully. Treasure your time. It is your most valuable possession.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Do Your Favorites Now

Friends, I don’t have it in me right now to do one of my traditionally frivolous Friday posts. I know that “the show must go on,” but I’m not a good faker. I never have been. We are on the brink of unexpectedly losing another extended family member and it’s a lot to bear right now.

The truth is, I love to play around with pretty things and fun products and to read excellent books and to get engaged in interesting movies, because I love life. Even in the tough times, I love the experience of being alive. I love the sensations of seeing beautiful things, hearing lovely music, smelling amazing scents, feeling all different sensations on my skin and tasting wonderful food. I make no apologies for being happy, and actively and fully loving my life and looking forward to each of my days and experiences. It’s what we’re supposed to do. I love Aliveness and it hurts to see people lose their gift of Aliveness, no matter what the state of their physical health. As we all know, it’s not really the things in life that matter. It’s the people whom we love, and the very act of being in love with life itself.

Today, this Friday, please do at least one of your favorite activities with at least one of your favorite people. Feel what it is like to be fully immersed in the feeling of love, and of joy and of awe, and of passion, for the experiences that you are having, living a life here on this overwhelmingly beautiful and abundant world. Have compassion. Be kind. Stay in the moment. Find serenity in your faith. Have the courage to feel your feelings fully. Make your own precious life your most absolute favorite possession, and decorate it and celebrate it and submerge yourself in it because one day, it will be gone. And all that matters in the end, is that you savored and favored your life when you had it.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Endings

We are currently going through an end-of-life situation with a relative and having to slog through the process of agonizing hopes and decisions. I don’t wish this predicament on anyone. It is one of those times in life when you realize that you really never knew what someone was going through, until you are going through it yourself.

I highly recommend watching these two short documentaries with loved ones. Although extremely emotional and difficult watches, they will really help with starting conversations about where everyone stands, on how they would like their end of life to look like. It’s important to know what your loved ones would really want for their own end of life passage into death.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Sentimental Saturday

“My son has started calling me “mom” instead of “momma” or “mommy” and no one has prepared me for how devastating this is.” – @kelly_le (Twitter)

I saw this quote the other day and I found it to be so relatable. It is one of those first steps of independence your children take to move away from you, and you know that it has to happen but it still hurts. It’s proof that you are doing your job right, but it definitely causes a mother’s heart to pang a little bit. I remember being well into my early adulthood and my father would still tell us to, “Go ask Mommy,” even though we hadn’t called her “Mommy” for many, many years.

And staying with my sappy, sentimental side (What can I say? It’s Mother’s Day weekend), I read this idea the other day, that honestly, I never had heard before. The thought is that people die twice in their lives. The first time is their bodily death, and the second time is when the person’s name is no longer spoken. I honestly that think this is a beautiful idea. My grandfather used to hold our hands and squeeze them and say “Onka Dunka”. He told us it meant, “I love you.” I squeezed my children’s hands and said “Onka Dunka” to them all of the time. I hope that they will pass the tradition on. It keeps my grandfather alive.

“Every man has two deaths, when he is buried in the ground and the last time someone says his name. In some ways men can be immortal.” – Ernest Hemingway

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Be Betty

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Happy New Year! May this year bring out the very best in all of us. May this year surprise us with its gifts, its peace, its opportunities, its blessings, and its hope. May this year be one of the loveliest years that any of us have ever lived, or dreamed of living.

Like so many people, I was a little bit soul-crushed to hear that Betty White had died yesterday, just shy of her 100th birthday. My son told me this news, and I thought that perhaps he was just confused. I kept asking him, “Are you sure?” Many times, during the last few years, I noticed Betty White would trend on social media and then everyone would panic, online, only to see that it was just another sweet, kind, funny story about Betty’s antics that was trending online. But sadly, this time, it was true. Betty had passed on. I read that Betty was taught as a child, not to fear death. She was told that death is just a secret that we all get let in on, at one point. That’s why so many people honoring her have written, “Betty, now you know the secret.”

Last night, I got a little binge-y, reading all of the comments honoring and making tribute to the wonderful, warm woman Betty White was in our world. She served in World War II, she stood up for black performers and gay performers, and she was a crusader for animals and animal rights. Betty White wasn’t just a timeless, hilarious comedian adored by every generation. She was so much more than just a Golden Girl. By all accounts, she was a total delight. She was the epitome of “golden.”

Paula Poundstone said, “You know what’s really great? We told Betty White that we loved her while she was still alive.” Isn’t that the truth? Betty never showed anything but love and gratitude for being able to spend her entire life doing that what she loved to do – entertain and make people laugh, and the world loved her back for it. She had a love affair with life that was lavish and on display and it all came back to her in multiples. There is no way that Betty White would have ever questioned if she was loved, appreciated, admired and respected. And she earned all of this with her delightful persona, sparkly eyes, total humble gratitude, and excitement for what comes next.

Last night, being stuck at home, getting over my COVID, I did a lot of reflecting about what my hopes are for the new year, and for this next chapter in my life. This is the year that I officially become a true empty nester, when our youngest child, our daughter, leaves for college. I stopped doing new year resolutions a long time ago. That got to be too deflating and demoralizing. I now try to think more along the lines of “What are my intentions for the new year?” Last night, I thought to myself, “Keep it simple this year. Why not try to live like Betty White lived? Love life. Love people. Love animals. Love what you do. Laugh. Be excited and expectant about what comes next.” I liked how Spike Cohen put it, and I would like this to be said about me some day:

“If you die at 99 and people say you’re gone too soon, you’ve lived your life right.”

RIP

Rest in peace, dear Uncle

When someone close to you dies, you reflect on death, but you also reflect on life. It seems to me that we all live many, many, multiple lives here, during our Life on Earth. We live each of these multiple lives through our different relationships, vocations, interests and experiences. Everything and everyone that “happens” to us, shapes us, molds us, and changes us. Our individual lives are in a state of constant evolution and flux. We like to see our individual lives as “one unit/one long story”, with “I” being the constant, but we do this mind trickery to ourselves, out of our human need for simplicity and categorizing and security. Everyone who we come in contact with, brings themselves and their perceptions and their past experiences and history, into the relationship, and we do the same. And then, when we meet that person once again, and even though we recognize that person through past and present associations and shared memories, in reality, each new meeting, is really like two new people, experiencing each other, in a fresh, new way. This phenomenon even happens with the people who we are closest to, the ones we live with, and who we experience life with, on a daily basis.

So when someone dies, who you have had a long history with, you have a lot of versions of that person in your head and in your heart, and to console yourself, you try to lump all of those versions together into one entity. You realize that you won’t be adding anything more to the relationship together, here on Earth, anyway. All of the fluidity of the relationship, is now just within you. The story, the legend, the history, of that particular relationship is now on your shoulders. It feels like a heavy load of responsibility to bear.

I think that it’s good to remind ourselves, that just because a person whom we loved, is no longer on Earth in bodily form, there is one thing that remains. The only thing that was truly a Constant, the Same, every time you encountered the person, was their God center, their light, their soul. Those of us who enjoy the practice of yoga, greet each other with the word, “Namaste”. Loosely translated, “Namaste” means “the spirit/God in me, recognizes the spirit/God in you.” So throughout the long time periods that you experience your closest relationships, you get to see so many aspects and versions of the persona and of the body, which Life (spirit/God) has lived through that person. These people, who you intimately know, get to see the same with you. How we experience each other is all grand and delightful and joyful and heartbreaking and interesting and awe-striking and overwhelming. We are mirrors to each other. We are the reflection of Life. We get to co-witness the constant evolution of a human life, through our relationships. And all of the while, when we are doing this mirroring/experiencing/witnessing of each other, the one thing that is the very Same and Eternal, within each and every one of us, just sits in peaceful, eternal, loving Awareness. And that Awareness never, ever changes, nor goes away. It remains with all of us. Always.

Sacredness in Tears

I don’t have words today. Everything that I write seems trivial and wrong and ridiculous. You see, one of my good friends, a friend who has been so supportive of my writing and of my blog, is going through one of the worst pains imaginable for a parent. She lost her child. And nothing I say or write or do, can take that pain away. My heart is breaking for her. She is bearing her own pain, plus the pain of her husband and her other children. All that I can do for her, right now, is to pray for comfort and peace, for both she and her family. I ask you for your prayers for my friend and for her family as they travel that treacherous, long, rocky road called Grief. I love you, friend. I’m here for you.

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition and of unspeakable love. ” – Washington Irving

Live Love

Today, my great aunt’s body is being put in its resting place. Her beautiful spirit is already free in Heaven with my grandmother, her other siblings and all those people she loved, who have already passed on. My Aunt Mary Lou passed on Christmas day. She fought cancer for 28 years. She held on as long as she could to be with those she treasured most – her beloved husband, children and grandchildren. They knew how much she loved them, because she never held back in that regard.

My Aunt Mary Lou was my grandmother’s youngest sibling and the last of the five of them, to leave Earth, and to go to Heaven. I was the flower girl in her wedding. Unfortunately, as these things happen with extended families, lives get busy, and our relationship dwindled to seeing each other on the occasional wedding or funeral and exchanging Christmas cards. Still, I never doubted her strong love for me and my family, ever. I had heard in early December that hospice had been called. I went to a little chapel where I like to pray, on Hope St. (that’s a real place) There, I lit a candle for her. I texted her some pictures. She texted me back that she loved me and my family so much. I have a lovely little ornament on our Christmas tree from her. She sent it to me when I was pregnant with my first son. It is a wooden heart and on it, she hand wrote (she had lovely, distinctive handwriting), “Baby – we love you already.”

Aunt Mary Lou wasn’t very rich or very famous, or very educated, but she knew what counts. She knew what was really important and she lived it. She lived love. It’s that simple. Rest in peace, dear one. Thank you for touching my life.