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I spend a lot of time thinking about Death, not in a morbid or morose way, but in a death-isn’t-the-end kind of way.
Death and I are intimate.
Several years ago, I sat patiently alongside Death as someone close to me was transitioning.
I watched the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing became increasingly labored.
I counted as the spaces between each inhale and exhale grew farther apart. I held my own breath, waiting for the next inhale to arrive, but it never did.
And then Death left my side and escorted him one out of this world and into the next.
Death paid another untimely visit to collect my father on January 26, 2022.
The visit caught me off guard.
“Not today. Not today,” I chanted to myself.
But Death had already come and gone, my father in tow.
Amid my bereavement, I sat in reflection. Pondering a little of this and that. Dredging up memories long forgotten. Crying rivers and streams. All while trying to remain present for life's happenings, which appear to stop for nothing... not even Death.
In its silent wisdom, Death has taught me that our true essence is more than physical.
It's the stories we tell, the laughter we share, the tears we shed, and the memories we create.
It’s experiential… shared glances, comforting touch, wordless understanding.
These moments don’t vanish with the final exhale. They linger, echoing in the hearts and minds of those left behind.
Even with all this knowing, I have tried and failed to bargain with Death. I’ve raged at its cruelty and sobbed at its indifference.
I have also witnessed Death’s tenderness —the way it cradles the weary, offering rest and hushed promises of reunions in realms beyond human comprehension.
On some nights, when sleep eludes me, I find solace in knowing that birth isn’t the beginning and Death isn’t the end. They are simply stops on the continuum of this thing called life. A sometimes, but not always, intimate dance of beginnings and endings, hellos and goodbyes.
Death is lurking beyond the veil’s mystic horizon once again as a beloved family member sets about to make her transition.
As always, Death has begun whispering wisdom for the living.
… cherish the now
… forgive easily
… love deeply
… bask, play, and savor
It still hurts, and it will for a long while. Grief begins before the end and never leaves. It simply softens over time.
And life ticks on…
The leaves still turn, the sun still rises, and babies still cry their first breaths.
I listen more intently now —savoring more deeply, giving myself more freely.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
- Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”
This life has a 100% fatality rate.
No one escapes Death’s grasp, but love defies its reach.
The cessation of breath cannot sever the bonds we forge.
The imprints we leave ripple on.
And so we continue with the passing seasons, the phases of the moon, and the days that spin into years, following the rhythmic pulse of the universe.
P.S.- Here are five books about Death that every living person should read:
Mortality by Christopher Hitchens
The Death Class: A True Story About Life by Erika Hyasaki
The Five Invitations: Discovering What Death Can Teach Us About Living Fully by Frank Ostaseski
Reimagining Death: Stories and Practical Wisdom for Home Funerals and Green Burials by Lucinda Herring
100 Days of Happiness by Fausto Brizzi (this one is one of my favorite books of all time, and I highly recommend the audio version.)