Celebrating Death (Or at Least I'm Trying)
It’s very hard to find your way back to joy when someone close to you dies and it’s not a “good” death.
When elderly members of my family have died, we have celebrated a good life and a timely death, and that can be uplifting, as well as grief inducing, in certain ways.
But a member of my extended family died yesterday, primarily, it seems, because of a broken heart and a loss of the will to live. A long-term relationship ended at about the same time that he was laid off from his job. He was a man who lived to work and to care for others, and both of his “missions” were taken from him at the same time. Although he was healthy and relatively young (mid 70s), he went downhill fast, starting with extreme depression, then shortness of breath, malnutrition, and dehydration. His close family tried hard to intervene - but we all know the expression about leading horses to water.
I think that finally he was ready to go, exhausted from days in the hospital and every possible effort to save his life. But no one was ready to say goodbye to him, especially since we were all in such a state of disbelief, so it was a sad day for his close and extended family and friends.
Is there anything to celebrate here? Yes. He left a wonderful legacy of caring for others, which he has done all of his life. He called his elderly mother every day, did her shopping every week, and visited her regularly. He loved his children and grandchildren, even the stepchildren from long-ended marriages and the honorary stepchildren (such as my husband) from long-ended relationships. He was a good brother. He was a caring co-worker. Everyone loved this man and raved about his kindness and love for others. So there is a lot to celebrate.
I’m also trying to celebrate his death as another chance to remember what is important in life. Do I want to die and have people rave about how much work I got done, how neat I kept my house, how they vaguely knew I loved them even though I hardly ever prioritized showing that love? No. Do I want to die in a mostly-empty hospital room because I never had kids and grandkids? No. So I’ve got to work on those things.
There is a cautionary tale here, too: that I can never stop feeling that I have a mission or purpose in life. I can’t wrap that sense of purpose up in one particular relationship or job. It has to be a mission that I establish with God and that I live through multiple aspects of my life, so that the loss of one or two of those aspects doesn't send me toward the couch and a willingness to give up on life. A well-established life purpose, it seems to me, is crucial to a life filled with joy.
When elderly members of my family have died, we have celebrated a good life and a timely death, and that can be uplifting, as well as grief inducing, in certain ways.
But a member of my extended family died yesterday, primarily, it seems, because of a broken heart and a loss of the will to live. A long-term relationship ended at about the same time that he was laid off from his job. He was a man who lived to work and to care for others, and both of his “missions” were taken from him at the same time. Although he was healthy and relatively young (mid 70s), he went downhill fast, starting with extreme depression, then shortness of breath, malnutrition, and dehydration. His close family tried hard to intervene - but we all know the expression about leading horses to water.
I think that finally he was ready to go, exhausted from days in the hospital and every possible effort to save his life. But no one was ready to say goodbye to him, especially since we were all in such a state of disbelief, so it was a sad day for his close and extended family and friends.
Is there anything to celebrate here? Yes. He left a wonderful legacy of caring for others, which he has done all of his life. He called his elderly mother every day, did her shopping every week, and visited her regularly. He loved his children and grandchildren, even the stepchildren from long-ended marriages and the honorary stepchildren (such as my husband) from long-ended relationships. He was a good brother. He was a caring co-worker. Everyone loved this man and raved about his kindness and love for others. So there is a lot to celebrate.
I’m also trying to celebrate his death as another chance to remember what is important in life. Do I want to die and have people rave about how much work I got done, how neat I kept my house, how they vaguely knew I loved them even though I hardly ever prioritized showing that love? No. Do I want to die in a mostly-empty hospital room because I never had kids and grandkids? No. So I’ve got to work on those things.
There is a cautionary tale here, too: that I can never stop feeling that I have a mission or purpose in life. I can’t wrap that sense of purpose up in one particular relationship or job. It has to be a mission that I establish with God and that I live through multiple aspects of my life, so that the loss of one or two of those aspects doesn't send me toward the couch and a willingness to give up on life. A well-established life purpose, it seems to me, is crucial to a life filled with joy.
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