Tag: death

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.