On Death and Living

It seems over the last while, there has been a theme of death - in conversations, in the news, in people I know passing away, in learning of a resurfaced terminal illness in an aunt, in books. It seems to be everywhere. There's also been a theme of living. Truly living. And about heaven - what is it really? Is it really something to look forward to? This last bit, I'll address in another post.

Disclaimer: This blog entry may be a little disjointed. Before writing it, I jotted down a bunch of thoughts. Even shed a few tears. Hopefully it will tie together in the end. And if not, bear with me, and comment on anything you feel you would like to comment on.

Something I've been grappling with - and haven't really come to terms with yet - the whole idea of healing. I believe in healing miracles. I believe they happen, even today. Why do some people have a long drawn out illness hoping every moment for a miracle while others have such a short time - and still, if conscious, hoping and praying for that miracle. I heard of another death today - the wife of someone I knew back in Winnipeg. She battled cancer for so long - and she together with all those around her believed so strongly God would provide earthly healing for her. I do believe, in her case, that she received healing many times as she long out lived any predictions doctors made. She received healing after healing. Yet, she still ultimately died of cancer. How do we justify when prayers for earthly healing don't seem to be answered? Or is it up to us to justify that or just trust that somehow this fits into a master plan that we are incapable of fathoming in our earthly lives.

I've also been thinking about the fact that, so often, when thinking about death, we approach it quite selfishly. In no way am I saying grieving is selfish. That is such an important part of the process and we need to do that. But I'm talking, more in general. Thoughts that come to mind when thinking about death. For example, many of my relatives have passed away. As I get older, I let out my breath and thank God it wasn't my parents or immediate family. It sounds so cruel reading that statement. I know my parents have some health issues. I know we all could go at any minute. I just don't want to think about what that could be like. And it's such an inconsiderate and selfish thought when I look at people I know and care about a lot going through the pain of losing someone close - a spouse, a mom, a dear friend, a father (or father figure), etc. At the same time, maybe there is some benefit to these thoughts. They certainly make me appreciate those in my life so much more. And it forces me to consider whether there's something more I can do to show my love and that I cherish each moment together. Death reminds me once again that people - that relationships - are the most valuable 'possession'.

It's easy to put a selfish spin on death. We go to funerals and see all these people who loved the person who passed on. And we selfishly think, "how many would come to my funeral" or "would they have something good to say about me?" Admit it, you've probably had this thought at some point. Recently, so many around me have experienced death in their lives, even if they hardly knew the person. In these cases, I've often heard this question (above) as well as "Would people even notice if I weren't around". It's sad to hear these thoughts, but I wonder whether this is a societal thing as well. I wonder if there aren't many people out there who have such thoughts. With such an individualistic society, it's not a wonder so many people feel lonely. Feel unloved. And I wonder if there's something more I can do to show that I love these people. To at least do my part in helping them feel loved. I think about a client who killed himself while I was away on vacation. There was nothing I could do to stop it. He was on an up-swing from a deep depression. Before, he didn't have the energy to kill himself. But, once he got a place of his own, things started to look up - enough to have the energy to kill himself. I wonder if I could have done something to help in the situation. But realistically, I can't think of anything. I did go to the memorial service and his daughter thanked me profusely for everything I did when I was meeting with him. She knew enough about me to know I helped her father start to pull out of his depression. But, in some cases, maybe there is something that can be done.

I wonder, too, whether these thoughts can be used for the good - to reflect on our past and make a commitment to make a positive impact on others. As in my previous post, be the "coffee beans" that change water into coffee. Be a positive influence on those around us. Be a sweet fragrance. A good taste in the mouth. Someone that is captivating and genuinely drawing people in because of your character and beauty. Maybe the best thing to do is to make a new ending by creating a new beginning, or by changing the plot line of the story. Start right now and do what you can. We need to make that choice. And, maybe we're already doing all those things, but I'm sure there's room to grow. We need to truly live rather than passively experiencing life.

I'm sure questions that cross our minds are, "Have I made an impact on others' lives?" or "Would people be able to honestly say good things about me at my funeral"? During a conversation with some friends recently, we talked about this idea. We wondered why it takes a funeral for people to speak good things about others and we wondered whether we could make a business of having pre-death funerals. That's a bit tongue-and-cheek, but really, it came down to - we need to make more of an effort to let others know when we appreciate them and the little things about them that we enjoy. Yet, our society seems to make us quite uncomfortable with this idea - both as the receiver and as the giver.

And, honestly, it doesn't really matter when it comes down to it, whether people come to your funeral or not - at least not to the person who died. The presence and support of people at a funeral is often more for the people closest to the person who died. For me, I know that I'm loved and I believe those who are important in my life would come. And, even if they would not, a funeral isn't about me. Not directly. A funeral and the days leading up to the service, and even times after that, are about the process of letting go as well as celebrating life. A way to remember. A way to re-experience some of the things our loved one loved - in honour and in memory. Maybe some favourite songs, or a reminder of why they believed what they believed, or sharing memories, or looking at pictures, or having a display to remind people of the things the individual loved. Sharing a piece of the individual with everyone there.

Thinking about death also leads to thinking about what does 'truly living' mean. Why am I still around on earth while others have passed on? I don't have answers for you - about myself or you. As far as 'truly living', I think it means to be active in life - not just letting life happen to you. To be full of life (which doesn't mean you have to be out-going and the centre of attention). To love people - genuinely. To act on your faith and what you believe. And I'm sure there's more. But I'll leave it at that for now.