Death - Life is calling

Tribute to a beautiful purple clothed soul

Jane, Jane, far from plain,

how I wish I could see you again,

Your friendship was real,

Your courage made of steel,

You were curious of mind

And your heart was kind

Both funny and caring

Status and bullshit

had no bearing

Your passions were varied

and really quite vast

So many you built

from back in the past

Not all understood

But they got you just

as best as they could

Whether politics or motorbikes

Or Santa pod or jive

Gosh you were very, very alive

Your family came first

Your passion, your purpose,

Rachel and Mark,

Ella and her art

Your partner Phil

And John too

All were very loved by you,

Over the years you opened

your home and your heart

To those from the theatre

along with their art

You trained to listen

to the stories of others

Of life, love and loss

brothers and mothers

You shared of your wisdom,

your care and compassion

For supporting others

was your true mission

So that’s how we met

The three of us

We were working together

without a fuss

Steph, you and me

We didn’t need long

For us to see

That we shared in a song

Our friendship was meant to be

We hung out together

In cafes and places

We talked about everything

While filling our faces

Whether family or fears

Or our client cases

with laughter or tears

We shared it all

Over all these years

We visited the Freud museum

And gardens and tea rooms

We shared in our joys

and we shared in our suffering

We did this thing called life together

Sharing so much more than just the weather

Jane was kind,

strong and wise,

creative and colourful

With depth in her eyes

She supported us all

And I could never imagine

What would her, befall

Our friendship has spanned over many years

And supported me personally through all my fears

Life bought highs and life bought lows

And why hers has gone now,

nobody knows

We shared together in laughter and fun

And everything else that is under the sun

we shared this precious gift of life

her absence now,

cuts like a knife

Her death seems

Very, very surreal

We’ll never again hug

Or share in a meal

How can it be that she’s no longer here

I can’t say this without shedding a tear

For Jane was as real as real can be

But she’s no longer here for you or for me

I’m so very grateful that she came

To give us her presence, invest of her love

For me, I see her

as a gift from above

On this matter, we didn’t agree

But there was always room

for you to be you

and me to be me

You gave me such kindness, love and care

When I was hurting, you found time to spare

God Almighty, this death feels so unfair

I know you wanted to watch your family grow

You didn’t want to have to go

I wonder whether you did know

There was so much love you were able to sow

You gave me the gift of your presence in my pain

And because of that I will never be the same

You reminded me just how far I had come

When I couldn’t see because I was too undone

You taught me to love myself when I’m in need

I’m very grateful that you sowed me this seed

Oh what a gift you have been to me

I wonder if you knew this was what I could see

I never told you the impact you had

And now this makes me so very sad

Of time I thought there would be more

Of this I felt so very sure

But your time was gone

And with it, the light that you shone

I’m so sorry Jane

I never told you this

of the impact you had

it was very remiss

because the friendship you gave

made me very glad

But I still see you now in your blue suede coat

Just nipping out to have a smoke

Your fingerless gloves

And your purple car

I still see you and love you

just as you are

Your kindness, compassion,

your smile and your eyes

your patience and care

through all of my sighs

you encouraged my writing

and to honour my needs

You saw, got, and loved me just as I am

and you taught me to do the same

now this holds me through all of this pain

I wish I told you when I saw you last

But now the time has already passed

So I’’ll say it here

Thank you, Jane,

for being my friend

you were thoughtful and true

right to the end

Jane, Jane,

You were far from plain

Oh how I long to see you again

But grateful I do remain

that you came

And now you live on

deep in my heart

And feed me from there

Right into my art

Thank you, Jane,

For being you.

I still sense you when I feel blue

Thank you, Jane,

For being you.

The death of a friend

Today is a week from the day that myself, the other friend who made our group of three, and the family, will mark the death of my friend and celebrate the gift of her life. I will call this friend J.

My tears are residing just under my eyeballs awaiting any opportunity to spill forth. I don’t like to restrain them, but I do need to maintain my responsibilities of adulting. I feel deeply sad that I will never get to sit with J again. How I loved over a decade of the three of us sitting together, chewing the fat while inhaling high fat fodder.

I feel extremely sad that I will never again get to feel the warmth and love of her presence or her hugs. She wasn’t a typically English hugger, by which I mean she didn’t attempt one of those weird hugs where people try not to actually touch you or where you part hug after half a second for fear of being too affectionate or unreserved. J was one of the best hug givers in my life. The last time I saw her we had a super long hug; proper style. I read somewhere that to benefit from the healing properties of a hug you must maintain it for a certain number of seconds. As a ‘big’ rather than ‘small’ picture person, I can’t recall how many seconds are required so I like to go long!

On that day, I didn’t know that it would be the last hug we would ever have in person. We did attempt to meet again but the cancer had ravished her body so rapidly that she was never well enough for another visit. I’m grateful for that last hug but as with all those I have loved and lost, I long for just one more; one more hug and one more of everything else we ever shared. It hurts that this longing will not be fulfilled. And now when my gorgeous ball of ginger fluff comes looking for a hug, I try to put down what I am doing and give him my attention. For we never know when a hug will be our last.

My heart hurts and so does my body. Not just from all the painting and furniture moving as I change my house from top to bottom, but also from the distress of grief that my body holds. As another friend remarked to me, as I have the living loss of estrangement from my family, my friends are my family and their deaths all the more pertinent.

In recognition of all this, yesterday was the day of my monthly treat of a massage. What an absolute gift from God my massage lady is and not just for me, as she is offering a special treat of £35 for a one-hour massage in February – ask if you want her details. I can’t recommend her enough.

Anyway, yesterday my poor knackered body and weary soul laid down upon her heated bed where she draped a soft, snuggly blanket over me, put on soothing sounds and began to massage me with oil. I find healthy, safe, human touch to be such a powerful source of healing. And for the first time I was introduced to a massage gun – I did not know these even existed before that moment. B told me she usually reserves this for big men but on this occasion my body was so incredibly knotted that she got the big guns out for me!! It was divine. For the body cannot lie and knows all the stress and distress that it holds whether recent or historical. And that massage was just what the Doctor ordered. At least the soul, spirit and body doctor, otherwise known as the Almighty. (access free to all without waiting lists)

I reluctantly dragged myself up and home where I gifted myself to a period of ‘being’ with a break from doing. A friend recommended the film Resistance about the true story of Marcel Marceau who transported many children to safety during the horrors of the Nazi regime. It took all of about ten minutes of watching this before I had to reach for the ever-present tissues. Children deserve to have their innocence preserved and protected rather than ripped away by human brutality in whatever form. Having just passed the 80^th anniversary of all Holocaust related, I was horrified to hear that some young folk are believing b/s that none of this existed. I know that all of us can be drawn by denial as a way to protect ourselves from tragedy, but really?

Anyway, shortly after getting all cosy and comfortable, settled and snuggled with Monty while being a bit snotty and a lot sad, I was snoring! It was so wonderful to give in to what my body so desperately needed.

Grief takes energy on every level whether to contain it while carrying on must occur or whether to let it have its way when time allows. Death and loss cause our hearts to hurt and as with every other type of healing, the internal resources required to heal, take energy and need extra rest to recover. I haven’t given myself this, so to rectify it, I’ve put an immediate ban on everything other than the essentials. I have a wonderful window of responsibility-free time which is in touching distance and I want to get there without collapsing first. And as writing is how I process, voila …

I did prioritise time out to celebrate a friends birthday though because friends are my family – these are the people I do life, loss and love with. And another family/friend sent pictures of her beautiful little new-ish human. Those at the start of life are such a tonic for all things end of life/general life crap.

My friend J was family to me and I will always be grateful for her ability to move towards me and not away, when I was suffering. While we also had fun together and talked about much, she was there when I lost contact with my personality, humour or ability to conversate. Such a precious friend. Such a monumental loss.

I remain grateful for my other friend who made up our group and for the gift of sharing our memories, experiences and loss of J. We will dedicate time next week to the place where the three of us spent so many happy hours together. There we will acknowledge J in any way that is meaningful to us. And then we will go to the official celebration of her life. But before that we are going to see the film about J’s beloved Bob Dylan. I’ll take plenty of tissues!

Once I am in my ‘space-to-be’ window, I will see what words want to come forth to convey my experience of J. I didn’t get to say goodbye in person or tell her what she meant to me or how I valued the gift of her. And so, I am planning to speak on the day that we celebrate her life as my way of acknowledging and honouring her.

Death, loss and grief are painful. But it remains true that the only thing worse than grieving, is refusing to grieve. Sometimes it is remaining connected to the pain within our own hearts, that shows us that we are still alive. And for as long as God grants me, I am all for that.

A day of two halves; sorrow and laughter

We’re born, we live, we die a thousand deaths across a lifetime then experience a thousand and one re-births (if we’re determined) before our body breathes its last.

Today was a day that bought life and death up close and personal.

Grief is such a peculiar and deeply personal animal. It’s a week today since my friend died. It’s been full of ordinary life which continues as before, except it can never fully be as it was before. But the business of adulting has taken front stage while the grief has travelled along the sidelines, never far away. None of us can simply sit with sorrow all the time, neither is it helpful to ignore it all the time. The balance of giving space and silence to connect with and honour the grief versus tending the ongoing responsibilities of life, is a deeply unique and ever changing experience that we must experiment with, to find and then maintain. And the emotions of grief, in whatever form, can be exhausting. This means more rest where possible. Not my forte.

This morning, I had an exchange with the family of this friend. They were able to share the place and time where we will acknowledge her passing and celebrate her life. They sent songs that are speaking to them in their sorrow. And these interactions cut straight to the heart of my own grief ripping it right open to allow the rawness to come forth in response. She’s gone and she’s not coming back. It takes time to absorb something so incomprehensible, irreversible and painful (not to mention a shit ton of tissues – I congratulated myself on re-stocking them yesterday!)

Today as I listened to those songs, felt the sentiment of them and remembered the times of us dancing together. I laughed and I cried and I danced some more. I felt a little lighter. Not a lot but a little.

And then my time of being with grief was gone as today I was taking a good friend out for her birthday. Talk about one extreme to the other; death to celebration of life. I asked for some help from on high to make the transition so I could fully engage with my friend’s celebration.

At her request we started as all good celebrations start ie with a good sit down scoff. One of the first songs to come on the radio was my friend’s beloved Teddy Pendergrass – she looked at me in wide eyed wonder and I looked right back at her!

‘Well, I never know what He’ll do but I did say I prayed for your birthday!’, I offered.

This friend is a staunch atheist who graciously tolerates me praying for her even though I continue to ungraciously point out when the God she doesn’t believe in, answers them (which is frequently!)

Anyway, in response to Teddy playing from on high, I gestured an invitation to the imaginary dance floor in between the restaurant tables. Up we rose for a little shimmy as it would have been positively rude not to. And dancing is one of the things that bonds us!

Anyway, during lunch, this friend reflected on the times she had been at that very venue with her mother, who she misses. I asked her what her mother would say to her if she was there now. Without a second’s hesitation, she replied,

‘Happy Birthday’!

And we laughed so hard and for so long, I wished I hadn’t shovelled my food in quite so fast! That’s one of the other things that bonds us; silly, shared humour!

The radio continued to play many of my friends’ old favourites! Good times. High five Jesus!

A little post lunch saunter down the road saw me buy a bunch of snow drops for their encouragement, beauty and flower gazing potential. Plus, some pansies that were actually violas, in purple and yellow, because who doesn’t need these in the Winter.

As I love learning first hand from those who know way more than I do, I decided to pick the flower selling man’s brains for snowdrop survival strategies. I learned that snowdrops are not to be moved from their pots while growing – this is where lots of folk gone wrong apparently. And, they need to be around other snowdrops to realise their full growing potential.

‘Oh, like humans you mean?’ I asked’.

‘Yes’, he replied!

Wow, I love how nature reflects these lessons back to us all the time if only we are willing to lean in, look and listen to their wisdom.

Next on the fun menu was a leisurely, browsing session round a huge supermarket that neither of us usually go to. In there we bought a whole heap of stuff we never knew we needed, thanks mainly to clever marketing and a repeated use of the word ‘sale’. Plus, we got to dance again on another imaginary dance floor in between the clothes rails. We’re nothing if not resourceful.

On the return to the car my friend remarked that I hadn’t been rushing like I usually do. Wow! Part 2. Now this really is progress. Go me. Slowly of course.

All in all, we had fun. A super-birthday-sized portion of the stuff. And it felt good. As well as totally in contrast to the start of the day. This is life in all its duality and richness, joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, life and death. The ability to celebrate the life still being lived while acknowledging the life that will no longer be lived in bodily form yet lives on within me.

Each day really is a gift, even the ones we’d rather send back. All we can do is keep living, loving, losing, learning and for me, dancing!

Sunny soul-soothing Saturdays

What a glorious day, more so for the stretch of sun-hiding-grey we have just endured.

Today, I cancelled my scheduled plans to gift myself the space and solitude that is essential for me to grieve well. It was this week that ended my friends suffering of cancer. And for me, the best way to grieve is to grant myself a break from doing, to give extra time for being. I need the space, silence and solitude that allows spontaneity to have its way.

First thing, this involved fresh coffee, drank in bed while savouring the silhouette of the tree branches against the changing sky. As a recovering rush/do-a-holic, who regularly relapses, nature offers one of my most effective ways of stopping. Nature gives of its ever changing, soul satisfying scenes, that stun me in to stopping for long enough to savour them (sometimes!). Gosh that was a lot of s’s.

Anyway, the deepening of the blue sky enhanced by the increased presence of the sun saw me unable to resist going out to play in God’s great playground. I’m a visual person and I wanted to see how everything looked in the crisp white frost. I got dressed and brushed, if not washed (don’t judge, I was going solo) and sauntered off to see where my feet took me. I wanted to get a paper anyway – one that most people hate and some judge me for reading. But hey, I don’t believe everything of much these days, but I do enjoy the human-interest stories, tv guide and recipes of this paper! So, I opted for the two birds’ approach of picking up a paper and letting my feet take me wherever they wanted to.

As is often the case, they took me straight to a body of water, on this occasion the river. I love to see it dressed in all kinds of seasons especially the magical, white frosty ones. It didn’t disappoint with the scenes it displayed. Next, I travelled by the river taking photos of whatever captured my attention along the way. Apart from the man whose camera was way bigger and better than mine! While prone to ‘monkey see, monkey want’ tendencies, this time I was grateful I wasn’t lugging that large lens around. I hate carrying things when I’m walking.

Scene after scene of stunning beauty sat there waiting to wow me. And I was wowed. At one point, a robin flew across my eye line before perching on a bit of wood off to my right. I love how robins have this tendency to fly in front of me singing,

‘Look at me, look at me,

I’m as pretty as can be’.

As I am known to sometimes miss what is right under my nose, I am grateful for their attention ensuring style for I do indeed find them to be as pretty as can be. As I fumbled around trying to take a picture, the robin refused to hold the pose and flew off in to the undergrowth. When this happens, I like to think it was a sight and moment just for me! If I do manage to capture something beautiful, I like to share it!

As I took a different route home, I happened to walk past a child’s playground. I answered the swings call to have-a-go on it. As I was happily swinging higher and faster, feeling free and childlike, it started making a disturbing creaking noise. Personally, I didn’t think I gained that much weight over Christmas but perhaps they are made for children younger and lighter than me!

At one point I even had to shed my jumper, scarf and coat. Not for long though. The top to toe refurbishment of perimenopause means my internal thermostat is still faulty. But at times helpful when the weather is cold but I am not.

The next offering of the day was a beautiful tree standing firm and proud while providing a meeting spot for the local winged choir. It sounded so beautiful I captured it on my phone to share. How I love these sights and sounds!

A little further along I passed the man who served me my newspaper. He told me he only walks by the river in summer. What? After showing him a selection of photo’s of where I had just walked (whether he wanted to see or not), he said he would go home to find suitable footwear and check it out for himself. I hope he did for it’s all right there for us to see and savour.

All along my saunter through these scenes, I was remembering shared moments with my friend. I feel so enriched for my experiences with and of her.

Fortunately, I was only a few minutes from my house when the movement of my body bought on a parallel process of some internal movement within my body. What started as a gentle knocking on the back door became more persistent with each step. Some folk may call this an overshare, I call it, we all have a body which does all kind of weird, wonderful and un wonderful things and as a therapist I’m for talking about it all! Fortunately, I made it home in good time minus having to attempt a sprint in my walking boots.

And now, I feel lighter in every way. This despite having fed every part of me; the heart, mind, body, soul and spirit. That’s what I call a banquet and I feel very satisfied.

Now I will listen to worship music while making a sweet treat for tonight where I will be indulging in four of my favourite things; time with a friend, food shared, a film I’ve been wanting to watch and a fire for warmth. Log burner to be precise but that didn’t flow as well.

I might even treat myself (and my friend) to me having a hot bath first and perhaps a cool-bed-sheeted siesta.

And more time sat basking in the sunshine, tree gazing and birdsong enjoying. I may even get to read that paper but then again, that might have to be a treat for tomorrow.

Gosh I love days like these.

While my friend is no longer in her body, my experience of her remains very much alive in my heart, mind, body and spirit. And I’ll write more about that later.

Happy Saturday peops; whether you are happy, sad, or in between, nature or whatever your equivalent to this is, invites you to indulge. This is how we take care of ourselves.

The Queen: A life well lived.

Like millions of others, I watched the Queen’s funeral on Monday.

I found the service deeply moving.

The reading of Psalm 34:17:19 jumped out to me and is worthy of including here …

When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous but the Lord delivers them out of them all.

As I am yet to meet a human whose life remains untouched by troubles, I think this is incredibly encouraging for us all.

As I watched the Queen’s funeral and cried and reflected upon what I saw about the life of this woman known the world over, I concluded, rightly or wrongly, that the Queen must have been profoundly loved. I came to this conclusion because of the multiple images of the Queen smiling, at this crowd or that, this individual or the other. Now of course we all have our game faces. However, the smile that she is so famous for is not forced nor does it fail to reach her eyes and the only way anyone can smile like that for prolonged periods is when it comes from within. Hence my opinion that she must have been deeply loved to have allowed said love to shine through her so sincerely for so many decades and to so many humans.

I very much respected the Queen’s acknowledgement of and referral to her faith. To my thinking, the love that shone through her was probably largely of the Almighty as well as from her husband and wider family. Many have written of Prince Philips supporting role for the Queen. A supportive love that spanned so many decades, I can only imagine her sense of loss thereafter.

As I watched Prince Charles, I warmed to him even more for the humanity he revealed over the pen that wasn’t working! Such trivial things are irritating but in the throes of the type of new and raw grief that he will be in, usual patience and tolerance levels can dip dramatically. I found myself wondering how he must be feeling faced with the task of following in the wake of a woman such as the Queen. And then I found myself thinking that actually, our new King need not follow in his mother’s footsteps but the deeply original footsteps that the same God Almighty has called, prepared and equipped him to take at this time.

King Charles will never be his mother but neither need he be. He will be able to reign over this country in a way that only he can if he follows his own relationship with God and the steps God calls him to take. I am curious to see how he adapts to this role that he has spent a lifetime preparing for.

I also wondered about the personal cost to all the family members who had to fulfil the roles assigned to them, so publicly, in such an early time of grief. I only hope and pray that each will find sufficient space and time, in private, amongst loved ones, to allow their grief to be felt and processed.

Whilst we are led to believe that grief is a quick thing that magically disappears after the funeral, the reality is way messier, with no set time or pattern. Grief is as unique as the relationship between the bereaved and deceased. And contrary to popular belief, it is not only time that is required to heal but also space and self care.

As I acknowledged my own feelings of sadness at the passing of such an incredible, inspirational, dedicated human being, I found myself wishing for one more address from the Queen. I wished that she had recorded a video for us with one more message of common sense and wisdom, encouraging us to work and play nicely together and to support her son in fulfilling his own commitment to us as whole heartedly as she had. And to remind us, that we will meet again. I wished for this whilst also recognising that this longing has accompanied my own grieving process for people that I have loved and lost when their lives have ended unexpectedly or without goodbyes.

I also noticed how the sombreness of the day was interspersed with moments of celebratory shouts and cheers. The process of grieving is to acknowledge and honour our own feelings of sadness or anything else whilst also beginning to feel gratitude and joy for the life that person lived and the time we had to enjoy them.

Death, loss, endings and grief are unavoidable.

How we choose to engage with life is deeply personal and when I look at the life and the death of the Queen, I see a life well lived.

Good grief …

Grief is a deeply personal experience.

One size does not fit all.

There is no set timeline within which to feel or not feel a particular way.

It is unpredictable in nature.

Whilst there may be similarities, no two griefs are the same.

Grief is unique to the person experiencing it; shaped and influenced by the length, depth and health of the relationship between the bereaved and the deceased.

Whilst grief is rarely spoken about openly, the reality is that it doesn’t disappear following the funeral. I’m fortunate to work within a profession that gets this. And the more people I talk to, the more I discover a whole community of people who recognise and understand the enormity and complexity of grief as an ongoing experience which impacts the whole body.

Grief is not something that we can or should rush.

There is no short cut, no glossing over, no willing it, or worse still, praying it away. Just imagine the tragedy of asking the God who gifts us with the chance to live and to love, to take away that which makes us alive, (our capacity to feel) following the death of a loved one. Wouldn’t that be the equivalent to two deaths?

The simple overriding fact is that grief is hard.

As much as I long to return to life as it was before this bereavement, I can’t. The world that I inhabited no longer exists in the way that I knew it. Or rather it is no longer inhabited by the one who made it what it was. This will take some adjusting to.

Grief is not something that I or anyone else can put a timeline on. It takes as long as it takes.

To strive against the impact of death is to prolong it, to surrender is to facilitate it. A truth we may do well to apply to life.

Yet in reality, it is hard to be with grief. Much easier to avoid or distract from it. Except this leaves us imprisoned by the very sadness that is seeking release. A deadening occurs that steals our sense of aliveness and ability to be present. The paradox is that only by being with the pain of grief can our experience of it along with our corresponding ability to reengage with life, begin to alter. And we can’t ‘be with it’ the whole time. We have to learn balance.

However, all too often within our quick fix, instant gratification, I want it now culture, we expect everything to be as we wish immediately.

In the case of grief, we may just want to feel how we used to feel. It is hard to accept that the only way to get to a new ok is by being with and walking through the not ok. And that’s not easy, quick or painless.

Grief is not a straightforward journey. And It’s not like breaking a leg where your body forces you to a total standstill. You know you need complete rest before you can begin to use and rebuild your muscles. You know that if you walk on a broken leg, by ignoring the body’s natural warning system of pain, or because you’ve fallen in to the cultural trap of ‘being strong’ or ‘keeping going no matter what’, you will probably complicate the original break and prolong the recovery period.

Yet when we sustain a wounding to the heart, matters are not quite so clear cut. We can’t see the damage for a start and us humans often like to see before we believe. And we can’t feel emotional pain in the same tangible way that we feel physical pain. It can be easier to override the body’s natural warning system by convincing ourselves that we can and should, stiff upper lip it out. Ultimately, it can be easier with grief to carry on as normal instead of making time to rest and heal.

Until that is, the body takes over for grief cannot remain hidden or ignored for long before it begins to manifest in physical issues. For there is an honesty and purity within grief that becomes stifled when suppressed. And whilst we may be able to fool ourselves and others that we are ok when we’re not, the body cannot lie. It knows when it needs time out to allow the healing process to happen and if necessary it will complain via physical symptoms that get us to stop. We ignore these warnings at our peril.

Despite being more aware of this than most outside my profession, I’m still not getting the work/life/healing balance right myself. I thought I was doing well by managing all of my responsibilities but after a week of doing so, I developed an unsettled stomach that required me to relinquish my ability to be vertical. And its grumblings conveyed a ban on the entry of more food. Always a major struggle for me. But clearly my body needed more time to process.

The overall message from my body is that I cannot continue as if nothing has happened. As I’m all too aware that unprocessed emotional pain can weaken the immune system thus leaving it susceptible to every virus, cold and flu that is inevitably doing the rounds at this time of year, I’m trying to heed my body’s warnings.

I am beginning to realise that whilst I know it is ridiculous to walk around as normal following the break of a leg, I haven’t fully appreciated the folly of continuing as usual following a bereavement.

Subsequently, I am attempting to understand what this means and looks like within my own life. A process which is quite literally shaking and challenging my ideas as to what is and what is not important. As it does so it invites me to recognise and relinquish previously held ideals.

Ultimately, I’m beginning to surrender, as in really surrender, to the process of grieving. Not on my terms or timelines but to whatever needs to happen within me in preparation for whatever new season lays ahead. Because, just as with nature, we can’t jump to the new wanted season without first allowing the existing unwanted season to do its work of change and preparation.

When Death Comes …

The cycles of nature teach us much about death and life

We don’t like to talk about death in our English culture.

We don’t like to talk about anything even remotely unpleasant really. Instead we adopt a mentality of, if I don’t look, see, or speak of said unpleasantness, I can simply pretend it is not so.

Yet such a passive approach falls rather majorly short in the face of the unpleasantness of death itself, with all its unflinching finality. We may not look, see or speak of the business of death openly, but when death comes to someone you love, you feel it with very fibre of your being.

And it feels …

Incomprehensible.

Surreal.

Irreversible.

Shocking.

Unbelievable.

Painful.

It stuns you in to slow motion. A daze and a haze that you haul yourself back from in order to undertake your day to day responsibilities. You can’t quite get your head around how said person can no longer be here. Yet you know that this is unarguably the case.

There is a gap. One that no one and no thing can fill.

Nor is it wise to try. And I have tried very hard with chilli peanuts and cake (not together) but food is so NOT the answer to the absence of life that death creates. Ditto alcohol/drugs/spending/suppressant of choice.

At least this is my experience. Yours may be vastly different. Or there may be some parallels. I don’t know. All I do know is that we need to talk about the difficult stuff, especially this death stuff.

Because as much as we look away,
denying our own and others decay,
death is here
and it’s here to stay.

And we need to talk about this cold, hard reality. Or rather, I know I do.

Because otherwise we risk failing to receive the fullness of the gift that life itself offers. For if death remains swept under the carpet or branded taboo or off limits, we give it the power and potential to destroy us from within. Maybe through an unspoken or unconscious fear that can paralyse us from engaging with life or risk. For some, a hardening of the heart in a misguided attempt to protect the existing pain whilst seeking to insure against more. Either option guarantees a death of sorts. The worst kind of death, the death experienced whilst still alive.

How can we ensure we don’t simply settle for a safe-chasing existence of mere survival, without facing up to the reality that death will come to us all. And in its own often unpredictable or even premature timing. We are powerless to stop it.

Yet paradoxically, by engaging with the presence of death, we can get real about the opportunities of life. We can re-evaluate in what, who, where, and for why, we want to invest our love, energy and talents. We can stop to question ourselves afresh.

What is my purpose?

What am I here for?

And what am I doing about that?

I never heard of anyone on their death bed uttering the words, ‘I’m so gutted I made the time to honestly and regularly review my life to identify where I was, where I wanted to be and what steps were required to get me from one to the other.’ Or, ‘I regret taking those risks, following my dreams, or committing my life to serving a purpose greater than myself.’ Or even, ‘if only I’d loved fewer people or held more grudges’.

And yet all too many of us ‘live’ our lives too afraid to be who we are, too cautious to pursue the dreams that arise within us again and again, too oppressed by the opinions of others, real or imagined, to actually risk releasing our own potential and to the benefit of all. Or for some, simply too set upon seeking security in the financial to risk pursuing the meaningful.

Others simply shut down their hearts, refusing to love if they’ve already lost. Whilst some engage in futile attempts to deny deaths reality by fighting the facts of ageing.

We all struggle in some way or another, consciously or unconsciously, with accepting death as a non-negotiable component of life.

Yet death is a given for all for which there is no avoidance, no escape, no get out of death free card.

I was going to write, no get out of life, alive, card. But of course, that depends upon your beliefs. Whilst many consider Heaven to be a defence against death on the part of those of us who believe, I consider a lack of belief to be a potential defence against the ultimate giver of life, by those who don’t. I’m talking here of the kind of life that is only possible following a total surrender to the only one who is able to take any of our lives from the natural to the supernatural. (Still got my L plates on here personally)

But, whatever our beliefs, it’s time to face up to the truth that death will come.

And the clock will continue to tick.

We need to wake up people.

You.

Me.

Us.

We need to live like we know that life is not an ongoing offer with no end point. It’s limited. It has an expiry date. I do. You do. We all do.

And amidst the mix of allowing space to grieve for the lost, loved one, the big question remains; what are we going to do about the reality of death?

Or more importantly, how will we allow it to influence how we engage with life?

Did Curiosity REALLY kill the cat?

Whilst driving home from a recent thought provoking conversation with a friend, I found my mind pondering the above.

Said friend is someone I trained with so invariably our talk turned to deeper themes like death, the role it plays in how we live and whether we are willing to do the work of making our dreams a reality. This ended with us discussing the crucial role of curiosity, along with our culture of curbing it.

Afterwards as I reflected upon our conversation, the saying, ‘Curiosity killed the cat’, came to mind. In our risk averse, fear driven culture, we can all too often use this saying to shut down anyone who dares to be curious as to whether there may be other ways of seeing, being or living, aside from those accepted by the unthinking majority as being the norm. Or worse still, as being ‘safe’. There is of course a time for being safe, but as an ethos for life, it’s more akin to settling for a psychological/spiritual death-in-life.

What particularly struck me is how readily we can throw such sayings about with little thought or exploration as to the original or intended meaning.

Yet further investigation revealed that the original saying was actually, ‘care kills the cat’, with the use of ‘care’ in this context meaning worry or sorrow. Even that’s not the full picture but if you are curious enough, google it yourself!

My issue with this saying is that curiosity can be marketed as a life-threatening condition. Despite the potential when exercised with wisdom, to be quite the opposite. For curiosity gives us permission to wonder, explore, imagine, play, envision and create, brand new ways of seeing, thinking, being and ultimately, living. It can be the birthplace of dreams, the beginning of change, the place of pioneering.

What is your curiosity calling you to explore?

I’ll end by returning to my initial question. Did curiosity really kill the cat? If so, which life, just the last or all nine? Either way, would curiosity be such a bad way for a cat to go?

As a human (mostly), death by curiosity doesn’t sound bad to me, at all. Whereas to die, or much worse to live, by apathy for example, would be truly horrendous.