With our first breath of living, we are dying. Or
maybe it is from the moment of conception; I don't know for sure. I just know
that the journey of Life ultimately leads us to Death. For most, it is a slow
process, and there is enough time between the beginning and the end so that our
everyday thoughts are not consumed by its morbidity. But with each passing day
we are living, we are one day closer to dying.
Glass half-full or half-empty?
I'm not sure if Death comes calling or if we
arrive to it, but somewhere along the path of living, dying is an inevitable
road block, not only taking its victim, but also disrupting the flow of what
may have been smooth sailing for those who loved, knew, or maybe just knew of
that victim. These days I find myself struggling with Death; I'm haunted by its
realness. I'm saddened by its presence, as it fogs the clear vision of joy that
truly IS my Life, as my glass overfloweth! I can't seem to shake the feelings of worry and
guilt and confusion that are racing through my mind day-in and day-out, and as
a parent, I grow more fearful of the possibility of losing my children at God's
will, finding it hard to trust in Him to keep us safe and protected and
healthy. Why me? Why us? Why not me? Why not us? How does He pick and choose?
What rock can I hide us under so that we may not be found by Death?
But of course, I don't really look for hiding
places along Life's journey. I'm not sealing my kids in a bubble so that they
remain untouched by all that could possibly hurt them. I'm not peeking over my
shoulder for anticipated evil or even just rotten luck. Instead I wake to each
new day with a full and thankful heart because I believe in miracles, and even
though Death is lurking, Life is happening - right here, right now.
And if Death is going to come anyway, I want to experience Life to its fullest,
most joyful extent. Logically, or maybe illogically, I know that is what I'm
supposed to do. I know it deeply and honestly. I know it faithfully.
But recently Death has made itself known to me,
reminding me of its authority, and beating into me my lack of control over it.
I'm not depressed. I'm not ill or insane (although that may be debatable!). I'm
just affected.
I normally take a glass half-full approach. I am
usually optimistic, checking the flip side and seeing the silver lining
wherever it may be. As I write this piece, however, I'm finding no resolution
to my confusion about Death. I remain ambivalent, for while I fear dying, I
love living, yet ultimately, they are one and the same.
I don't know what is on the other side, but I
imagine it is a beautiful place filled with angels and soft voices, like
dreamland, that place between being awake and asleep, where you only partially
know what is happening, but it feels so good to keep your eyes closed. I like
to think that our most confident, beautiful self is the self that lives there,
despite the self we are when we go. I believe there is no pain, no suffering,
and that once we submit to being there, we don't even try to go back. I tell
myself we really will be "in a better place," just as we insensitively,
but with the best of intentions, tell those who are mourning of the ones they
have lost.
But I'm still not ready to go there...or to say
goodbye to the ones I know who have already gone there...and most definitely, I
am not ready to think that my babies or my husband could possibly EVER go
there.
My heart is aching for the loss of someone I
hardly knew, but whose random, kind words touched me so deeply that I was affected.
I despise that she has met Death so
early, so young, so unfinished. She was full of joy for what her future held:
loving and raising a beautiful child and watching him grow into a man, and an
upcoming marriage to that sweet boy's father, who loved her with all of his
heart and soul. I could feel his love for her in his written words; I could
see, as they gazed at each other in a picture, the light in their eyes, bright,
cheerful, radiant. I could sense they were meant for each other, meant to be
together forever...
But even "forever" on their journey
through Life has been met with Death. And although Death is what is inspiring
this post, I believe her Life is what affected me...her thoughtful,
joyful, expression of interest in a single moment of a random day in my
Life...
I am sad, and I grasp desperately at bits and
pieces of joy that I've stockpiled in my memory to refer back to in moments of
despair and uncertainty - a video of my son dancing at the zoo on a rainy day,
my daughter saying "mama" for the first time, my husband laughing
with me at a shared joke...
I didn't know she was sick. I didn't know much
about her at all other than we were classmates years ago and she was a
genuinely, kind-hearted person. But a simple comment she took the time to post
on my facebook page in response to a picture of my baby girl laughing was
enough to affect me. When I noticed a few days ago comments of prayers going
out to her, I instantly joined in and blindly offered her my own, feeling
connected to her by just those two sentences and that smiley face icon she’d
posted on my “wall.”
I know Death is a part of Life. I get it, but I
don't have to like it. I don't have to embrace it and act all tough about it or
be ashamed if my glass half-full feels a bit closer to half-empty. Even an optimist can take a day off. I'm reminded that the only way to know joy is
to know suffering. It is a hard lesson, the lesson of Death, but it is a Life
lesson.
I am affected so deeply by Death that I want to
soak up every detail of Life! I think of how short Life can be and how
vulnerable we all are on its journey, and I don't want to waste a
single breath.
When we first discovered our daughter's heart was
beating, after being diagnosed with a "non-viable pregnancy," our
doctor told us "this is what faith is." Never have I understood those
words more than in that moment. I carry that faith with me every day in my full
and thankful heart. Despite the suffering in the world, and regardless of our
journey to Death, Life is a miracle!
Just as I am affected by the tragedy of Death, I am equally affected
by the miracle of Life, and that, my friends, is a glass half-full.
