Somber Sentiments

Photo by Jon Butterworth on Unsplash

Life is tenuous at best, cut short at worst.

No guarantees, warranties, certainties.

No life insurance for the one who has passed on.

No medals or awards or ceremonies or validation or vindication at your death.

You can’t take anything you’ve worked so hard for, toiled for, bled for with you.

You may believe in an afterlife, which might give you some comfort. I hope it does. But at the end of the day, you neither know when it’s your time to go, how you’ll go, or if you’ll continue on past this realm.

I know this sounds very morbid. It’s neither uplifting nor happy. You probably wish I were a harbinger of joy rather than suffering, and wonder whether you should finish reading this post or not.

MORTALITY

Maybe it’s because I’ve had 3 procedures this month. I just got out of general anesthesia now, and honestly, I went into it knowing that I might not wake up. And you’d think I’d have enough of these done that I’m used to looking death in the face on a daily basis, but the answer is I’m not.

I was especially afraid today because I just learned my ex-father-in-law passed away a day ago on an operating table. He just found out his cancer came back 2 months ago, and now he’s gone. In the surgery center this morning, I overheard a nurse talking about her daughter(?) who had been complaining of some back pain. They found out she had cancer last week, and she’s gone.

It is the anniversary month of my dad’s suicide and in a few months of my grandmother’s death from Alzheimer’s.

On a much minor note, my cat brought in a bird that died in my hands before I could rescue it the other day, and my garden vegetables all died of an onslaught of mites and worms. I see roadkill every time I’m driving, and my sister’s trees are dying of blight.

Death seems everywhere, all around me these days. It’s so hard not to get smothered in it. Not to let fear take over. Not to wonder when it will be my turn. Or much worse, when it is someone else’s. Not to worry that death will take someone else I love away from me, and whether I can withstand it or not.

Because if there is any certainty in life, it is that we will die.

GRIEF

My therapist said a couple of weeks ago that “grief doesn’t have to be about sadness.” And I’ve really been thinking about this a lot. I FEEL sad. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in sadness. But grieving someone or something doesn’t HAVE to be sad. My go-to is always to Not Think About Things as a tactic of self-preservation. Don’t look at pictures of loved ones gone or think about them or talk about them or listen to their favorite music or eat their favorite food. My solution is essentially not to grieve. But then in the process of not grieving, I forget them. I…erase them. I dishonor them. And I realize THAT is worse to me than feeling like I’m dying with grief.

So, I’ve been practicing at grieving in a different way. By intentionally remembering those I have lost. By looking at memories from long ago and more recent ones, too. By laughing at their quirks that used to drive me so crazy. By recognizing how that person has shaped my life and whispering thank you.

Because even if they do not live in the beyond, our loved ones still live within us. If we let them.

While grief wells up within me like a tidal wave that I can’t control, I am holding fast to three things that I CAN control:

1. Gratefulness:

I’m so grateful for waking up twice today.

For the sunshine.

For my mother, who is taking a nap on my couch right now (like she’s the one who had anesthesia and not me).

For my service dog and my cat, who cuddle with me, especially when I’m distraught.

For my boyfriend who let me cry and cry and cry last night when I got the news of my ex’s dad.

For having the honor of still having two grandparents still living and living well.

For having dear friends and family members who love me and support me.

For being able to see well enough to read and write.

For my ability to still walk.

For my plants that are still alive (probably miraculously).

For my memories.

1. Love: I can tell people I love them. Every day. Multiple times a day. Better than that, I can show them I love them.

Lend a listening ear.

Take a burden off their plate/schedule.

Make them cookies.

Spend time with them.

Forgive them.

Love them the way that they feel loved — that might not necessarily look like the way I feel loved.

1. Carpe Diem: It sounds cliché, but my dad used to tell me all the time, “Rachel, live today like it’s your last.” I used to think that meant go change the world (and if you can, more power to you!) or make a colossal difference at least. Now I realize it’s more…being than doing.

Enjoying the little moments.

Being present.

Being with people when they need you.

Resting and not feeling guilty for it.

Showing kindness.

Leaving the world a better place than when I entered it.

Having no regrets from here on out.

If you are grieving today, my heart hurts for you.

Keep on keeping on, friends.