My extended family has experienced two deaths recently. Two elderly family members passed away 12 days apart. Even though they were both expected and brought an end to physical suffering, it hits hard that they both came so close together. We are grieving.
In addition, I’ve been reading poets like Mary Oliver and Ross Gay, both of whom capture true joy and delight in simple things like a walk in the woods or picking fruit from a mulberry tree. At the same time, they both write explicitly about death: their own death and the deaths of loved ones. Having an active awareness of death and the fleeting nature of our earthly lives enables both of them to embrace the joy of this life more urgently and fervently.
All of this has me think a lot more about my own death. When my Grandmother approached her aging years, she often said that she was getting friendlier with death.”
So following my grandmother’s lead, for the rest of January as everyone else is worshiping at the altar of health and wellness, I will be getting friendlier with death and sharing my musings with you. You may wish to start with Part 1, Part 2 or Part 3.
If contemplating death makes you feel like running screaming toward the nearest vast wasteland, you are in good company. And this topic may hit closer to home with you depending on where you are right now. I invite you to take a deep breath, be gentle with yourself, and take on as much as you can right now.
Part 4: The final goodbye
Death certainly put things in perspective. And that’s been the whole point: to look at my own death head-on in the hopes of becoming friendlier with death and living my life differently in the present.
The most powerful part of this journey has been writing to my children. More than anything else, writing to my kids about my death has helped me come to terms with what their life would be like without me and what I want to tell them that I haven’t already. I’ve been able to acknowledge and accept all the things I dread most about dying while my children are young.
I’ve been reading a book about longevity - Outlive by Peter Attia. While I’ve found a lot of the material really informative to learn about chronic diseases, especially when it comes to making the most of the last decades of my life if I make it to old age, it strikes me just how much most of us are really afraid of dying. We want to prolong or delay the inevitable as long as we can.
Not that I’m completely at one with the idea of my death, but I am becoming friendlier with the end of my life.
Where do I want to be buried? Who do I want to take care of my children if my spouse and I both die while the kids are young? What organizations do I want to support assuming I have assets when I die? Answers to these questions seem easier now as I contemplate my own end.
And my journey isn’t over. I will continue contemplating my own death beyond this month since I’ve derived way more benefit from this practice than I’d expected.
Author Susan Cain speaks so eloquently about how contemplating her death has given her a more fulfilling life. Cain describes their family bedtime ritual with their small children. They would snuggle together in bed and talk about their day. It was a lovely bedtime routine that she looked forward to. But, with things particularly busy at work during that time, she would struggle not to bring her phone into the room at bedtime in order to stay up to date on the latest email.
Then she started practicing Memento Mori, a Christian practice affirmatively reminding oneself of death all the time. She describes the impact of this practice best:
“It wasn't like in a heavy or morbid way I would just matter of factly say to myself you know you might be gone tomorrow; this precious child may be gone tomorrow; he may not be here. We really don't know. And immediately, I would put down the phone and have no desire for it. It wasn't just like, yes I will now use my willpower to put down the phone. It didn't require willpower. Of course you have no desire for your phone when you give yourself the context of how fleeting everything really is.”
I began this journey as a response to the deaths in my family and as an antidote to our cultural focus on youth and the self-improvement. Who would have guessed that this practice would actually improve my life and my outlook? As a reminder of this journey, I got an hourglass necklace as a visible representation of the fleeting nature of all things.
In closing, I’ll pick up where I left off in Part 2 in my letter to my children…
To my kids:
Look for things that remind you of me: like fresh flowers, or songs that we sang together, or birds. Find big and small ones so you can feel close to me anytime you need to. Look at pictures of places we visited together or visit them yourself and make new memories. Pick a clover, or blow a dandelion, smile at the dark chocolate section in the grocery store or try to keep a straight face when someone does a bad French accent. Reminders are as close as my love.
Here’s what I hope for your lives:
-Surround yourself with loving and understanding people. Pay attention to how they interact with people with neuro-diverse or other atypical experiences. And if someone drains your energy or makes you feel worse about yourself, pay attention to that.
-Materialism is very strong and will continue to pull you in all major stages of life. It isn’t enough just to choose a simple life when you’re first starting out; you have to choose it again and again. We were not put here on this earth to acquire and amass. Yet, the temptation is there. I know it’s come for me again and again, especially when I least expected it.
-Keep an eye out for curiosity and wonder. It’s always out there when you have the antenna up. Sometimes I felt I was too busy to stop and watch a caterpillar cross a twig or to stare at a leaf. I hope you know there are very few things more important.
-Delight in good things like good food and live music. Go outside and discover something beautiful about the world. Whatever it is, love it and delight in it. Best of all, share it.
-Find a poet that’s meaningful to you. Right now, I like Mary Oliver, Ross Gay, and Jan Richardson. But, you will find your own. I specifically want to share these poems.
Mary Oliver’s poem In Blackwater Woods ends with these words:
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold itagainst your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
Letting go is the hardest part. I have loved you with all of who I am, and held you close when you would have squirmed out of my too-tight embrace. Now is the part of letting go. It is not my choice to let go of you, and surely not yours to let go of me. But I pray that over time you will at least accept the letting go, knowing that we have loved as fully as we possibly could.
And this poem from Jan Richardson, A Blessing for the Brokenhearted:
Perhaps for now
it can be enough
to simply marvel
at the mystery
of how a heart
so broken
can go on beating,
as if it were made
for precisely this—as if it knows
the only cure for love
is more of it,as if it sees
the heart’s sole remedy
for breaking
is to love still,
Marvel at all the ways that your broken heart not only still beats but still loves and will go on loving so much of the world and its people long after I am a distant memory. Love still; love more!
-Lastly, make your life your own. Ha! After I’ve told you everything I want you to do. If you are ever unsure or wish I was there, take a deep breath, pray, and know that you have everything you need to face what is ahead of you.
My dear ones,
be gentle with yourselves. And then, be courageous!
~What I’m reading~
Outlive: The Science and Art of Longevity by Peter Attia
Inciting Joy by Ross Gay
I love hearing from readers… replies to this email will be sent directly to me.
Keep in touch!