I don't know what it is with death these days but lately I've been absolutely surrounded by it.
Over the past month, I have bid goodbye to two close family friends. Wakes and funerals. Tears and deep breaths. Black dresses and mass cards. The whole process of saying goodbye has quite understandably hung a pall.
The first friend to pass was our friend Bill who had just recently retired at age 64. He and his wife, his best friend Carol, had bought a shore house and were fixing it up getting ready for a nice calm life at the beach. Walks to the ocean whenever they wanted...ice cream for lunch...books and blankets on the beach--the dream Jersey retirement. While fixing the house, Bill fell off a ladder, had complications and passed on. And just like that he was gone. It is still the strangest thing.
Throughout the funeral, the resounding theme of Bill's life was service. He loved to help people, people he knew and even those he didn't. He was a firefighter by trade and it seemed like he was a hero to those whose calls he answered and to everyone else around him, as well, as evidenced by their kind words about him in relaying his seemingly endless offers of help. He was a good and kind man and I will miss him dearly.
The second was my friend Jon's wife, Heather. I know Jon but did not get a chance to know Heather as well as I would have liked. She unfortunately had liver cancer. More importantly, though, she also had a deep love for poetry, her two little girls, Sophie and Willow, and her husband who equally adored her.
I only knew Heather in passing but after her service I suddenly felt like I knew exactly who she was. Due to the outpouring of beautiful personal memories from her friends and family, I felt like I was able to understand her spirit if only after the fact. In the simplest of terms, it seemed like she loved to live life and that she was in love with life, like we all should be. She was always planning for new adventures and teaching and encouraging those around her. She loved having fun and thinking good thoughts and was continually trying to be better--whether that meant living her faith more fully or being a better mom or a better wife or just a kinder person. She truly lived while others just exist. She was just 39 and I am very saddened by her death.
Death sucks. It's final, non-negotiable and unforgiving. There is no "take-two", no do-over and no way to take it back. But if there is anything good that can come from a death, any one gift that a death can give, it is that suddenly things are much more in focus. When my Mom passed I absolutely hated it when people said this. I would read sympathy cards and skip to the part where people would write personal notes and wish they had said something, anything, better. Something I could actually use. But years later and with every new death, it proves itself more and more true.
Over the past year, I have experienced change after change after change. I started a new job, moved to a new town, made new friends and started a new life all the while still trying to hold on to the one back in Boston. I tried (and continue to try) to make the best of where I am. I am grateful for the opportunities I have been given and the people around me. I am really, really lucky.
In spite of all of it, though, I keep waiting for my life to get "started". I keep waiting for someone to show up and begin things. To say the word, "Go". To hand me a ticket that will give me some sort of permission I don't seem to currently have and explain where I go from here to really...begin. This begs the question, though: what is a life? And when do any of us have days that we know are more "life-y" than others? Are bad days not our lives? Are good days more our lives? Will I open my front door one day to see--presto!--an amazing writing career, a loving husband, an adorable baby and a spacious house by the beach?
No. My life is now. All I have is today. All I have is this moment and this moment and on and on. That is all any of us have. So instead of waiting and planning and dreaming of what our lives could be like, we should all take more time to focus on what our lives are like right now. Because we are living them as we speak. The new beginnings and the deaths, the good and the bad. To reflect on what we have learned, the relationships that warm us, the things we have seen, the places we have been, the memories that unite us. It is all life. To be present is the gift. To live, unapologetically and passionately, is to really have a life. My Mom always said it best--"This is not a dress rehearsal, this is IT!"
I know I get hung up on the details. Often I do this more than I should. However, in my own defense, I am an event planner right now and it comes with the gig. But what I am determined to do is now when I get too caught up, I want to begin asking the question that Jordan asks these days that brings it all back to square one. In the heat of a situation, she will ask herself, "Will I care about this 10 years from now?" If the answer is yes, I stick in there. But almost always the answer is no and I am able to gain the perspective that we almost all lose as we go about our daily routines. The Big Picture is called that for a reason--we should pay attention to it.
There is no simple way to process a loss. There is no one way to grieve. None of this makes sense all at once. It only reveals itself in small glimpses as we continue down the road. So while I wish I had more profound thoughts to share, my thoughts on death and loss are quite simple: I hope that my being here is ultimately a help to others. I hope those around me know how much I absolutely adore and admire them. And I hope that many years down the road at my own funeral, people will miss me because they knew me (the real me) and will say kind things about me, too. Those are details that I can handle.
Over the past month, I have bid goodbye to two close family friends. Wakes and funerals. Tears and deep breaths. Black dresses and mass cards. The whole process of saying goodbye has quite understandably hung a pall.
The first friend to pass was our friend Bill who had just recently retired at age 64. He and his wife, his best friend Carol, had bought a shore house and were fixing it up getting ready for a nice calm life at the beach. Walks to the ocean whenever they wanted...ice cream for lunch...books and blankets on the beach--the dream Jersey retirement. While fixing the house, Bill fell off a ladder, had complications and passed on. And just like that he was gone. It is still the strangest thing.
Throughout the funeral, the resounding theme of Bill's life was service. He loved to help people, people he knew and even those he didn't. He was a firefighter by trade and it seemed like he was a hero to those whose calls he answered and to everyone else around him, as well, as evidenced by their kind words about him in relaying his seemingly endless offers of help. He was a good and kind man and I will miss him dearly.
The second was my friend Jon's wife, Heather. I know Jon but did not get a chance to know Heather as well as I would have liked. She unfortunately had liver cancer. More importantly, though, she also had a deep love for poetry, her two little girls, Sophie and Willow, and her husband who equally adored her.
I only knew Heather in passing but after her service I suddenly felt like I knew exactly who she was. Due to the outpouring of beautiful personal memories from her friends and family, I felt like I was able to understand her spirit if only after the fact. In the simplest of terms, it seemed like she loved to live life and that she was in love with life, like we all should be. She was always planning for new adventures and teaching and encouraging those around her. She loved having fun and thinking good thoughts and was continually trying to be better--whether that meant living her faith more fully or being a better mom or a better wife or just a kinder person. She truly lived while others just exist. She was just 39 and I am very saddened by her death.
Death sucks. It's final, non-negotiable and unforgiving. There is no "take-two", no do-over and no way to take it back. But if there is anything good that can come from a death, any one gift that a death can give, it is that suddenly things are much more in focus. When my Mom passed I absolutely hated it when people said this. I would read sympathy cards and skip to the part where people would write personal notes and wish they had said something, anything, better. Something I could actually use. But years later and with every new death, it proves itself more and more true.
Over the past year, I have experienced change after change after change. I started a new job, moved to a new town, made new friends and started a new life all the while still trying to hold on to the one back in Boston. I tried (and continue to try) to make the best of where I am. I am grateful for the opportunities I have been given and the people around me. I am really, really lucky.
In spite of all of it, though, I keep waiting for my life to get "started". I keep waiting for someone to show up and begin things. To say the word, "Go". To hand me a ticket that will give me some sort of permission I don't seem to currently have and explain where I go from here to really...begin. This begs the question, though: what is a life? And when do any of us have days that we know are more "life-y" than others? Are bad days not our lives? Are good days more our lives? Will I open my front door one day to see--presto!--an amazing writing career, a loving husband, an adorable baby and a spacious house by the beach?
No. My life is now. All I have is today. All I have is this moment and this moment and on and on. That is all any of us have. So instead of waiting and planning and dreaming of what our lives could be like, we should all take more time to focus on what our lives are like right now. Because we are living them as we speak. The new beginnings and the deaths, the good and the bad. To reflect on what we have learned, the relationships that warm us, the things we have seen, the places we have been, the memories that unite us. It is all life. To be present is the gift. To live, unapologetically and passionately, is to really have a life. My Mom always said it best--"This is not a dress rehearsal, this is IT!"
I know I get hung up on the details. Often I do this more than I should. However, in my own defense, I am an event planner right now and it comes with the gig. But what I am determined to do is now when I get too caught up, I want to begin asking the question that Jordan asks these days that brings it all back to square one. In the heat of a situation, she will ask herself, "Will I care about this 10 years from now?" If the answer is yes, I stick in there. But almost always the answer is no and I am able to gain the perspective that we almost all lose as we go about our daily routines. The Big Picture is called that for a reason--we should pay attention to it.
There is no simple way to process a loss. There is no one way to grieve. None of this makes sense all at once. It only reveals itself in small glimpses as we continue down the road. So while I wish I had more profound thoughts to share, my thoughts on death and loss are quite simple: I hope that my being here is ultimately a help to others. I hope those around me know how much I absolutely adore and admire them. And I hope that many years down the road at my own funeral, people will miss me because they knew me (the real me) and will say kind things about me, too. Those are details that I can handle.
So sorry to hear of these losses and the families that are impacted. You have a healthy philisophical take on it all though. Take good care, friend.
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