Meditation definition (Oxford Languages) – a written or spoken discourse expressing considered thoughts on a subject.
Mortality definition (Oxford Languages) – the state of being subject to death.
“You don’t get to choose how you’re going to die, or when. You can only decide how you’re going to live.” — Joan Baez
As a person of a certain age — living my seventh decade — death and dying are on my mind.
Recently, there have been unexpected deaths of friends and loved ones, plus celebrities and artists in the public sphere, caused by accidents, deadly health crisis, unknown reasons, suicide, or overdose. When we’re unprepared for the sudden news, it’s both shocking and unsettling. For many of us, it’s a reminder of our own mortality.
There were also a multitude of deaths of people I’ve never met, yet still grieve as a citizen of the world. Tragic deaths, due to war, terrorism, domestic and gun violence, weather-related fires, tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, floods and more.
In my immediate circle, during the past decade, I’ve said goodbye to two younger sisters, beloved mother, mentors, and friends. Prior to those losses, the family generation that preceded them, grandparents, aunts, uncles, plus contemporaries, my cousins. I also experience anticipatory grief, understanding that loved ones, like my 93-year-old father, may be the next loss for our family, making me the family elder. In my family, I’m tasked as the obituary writer. For friends, I’ve written tributes.
“…love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.” — Thorton Wilder, from his play, The Bridge of San Luis Rey,”
What I’ve learned so far from this experience is grief and gratitude go hand-in-hand.
Full disclosure: I possess no credentials, degrees, or training in gerontology, palliative care, grief counseling, or philosophy. I am simply a person learning how to navigate this final chapter of my own life, while grieving and letting go of the generation that preceded me, my contemporaries, and sadly, those younger, who die prematurely.
This piece is more musing than essay, a reminiscence and meditation on mortality. I quote passages from books and articles that speak to me and lessons I’ve learned as I grieve the losses in my life and anticipate those that I fear the most, including my own.
“I have been increasingly conscious, for the last 10 years or so, of deaths among my contemporaries. My generation is on the way out, and each death I have felt as an abruption, a tearing away of part of myself. There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.”
“I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers. Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.”—Oliver Sacks.
Yesterday, Today, & Tomorrow
Yesterday
The first death that I remember vividly was the death of my Uncle Willy, my mother’s youngest brother. When I was a young child, Willy was our babysitter for my sister Roz and I. He was a young adult and my memories of him are his smile, blonde Dutch heritage, his resemblance to David Bowie, and his affection and care for our family. I was probably seven or eight-years-old when my mother received the phone call from her mother delivering the news of Willy’s tragic death.
What I witnessed that day was my mother’s expression of grief without hearing the words from the conversation. She was transformed as she tried to talk and ask questions between the tears and gulps of air as she hyperventilated. I later learned the cause of his death. Willy was with his best friend, a young man who struggled with mental illness and suicidal ideation. Willy was attempting to prevent his friend from shooting himself in the head. They were in the front seat of a car, a tight, closed space, and wrestled for control of the gun. The gun accidently fired, shooting my uncle in the back of the head, the bullet exiting his eye. He died instantly.
I share this remembrance because it’s emblematic of how death transforms us in visceral ways. For me it also became a childhood recurring dream. I’m in the kitchen of my childhood home with my mother as she answers the call from the wall phone and learns of Willy’s death. In the dream I look out the window and see Willy standing in the yard. I run into the living room to tell other family members who I saw, and look out the living room window, and Willy is standing there looking in directly at me. In the dream I can’t speak, I’m mute with grief.
There were more deaths and funerals in my young life. At 16, my junior high school friend, Cherie. She had Leukemia and her parents did everything to both protect her health and provide her with experiences that would give her joy. As one of her friends, we enjoyed many gifts of shared experience that her parents provided, before the day she walked home in winter, defying her parents guidelines, contracted pneumonia, and her suppressed immune system was unable to fight it, and she died.
Other unexpected deaths of family members included the suicide of my maternal aunt, Betty. She was in her middle 50s, an alcoholic and of course, so much more, a role model for me growing up of a strong independent woman. She was bereft after the death of her common law husband following the deaths of two previous husbands. She was living isolated in Northern Wisconsin, and after calling my mother, with her favorite music playing in the background, they reminisced about their lives and memories as sisters. After she hung-up she laid on the couch and killed herself with a gun. My mother and I had just driven up north and spent a long weekend with Betty a month earlier.
There were many more losses that were not as tragic or unexpected. On both my maternal and paternal sides of my family, we’re blessed with longevity. I’m also grateful that for my grandmothers and mother, I was able to be at their side just prior to their passing.
As I mentioned earlier, I’ve had to learn to let go in life of family, mentors, and friends, plus my first romantic friendship with a woman, Megan, a beautiful and talented portrait photographer who died at the age of 30 from breast cancer. See Memories Are Made of This: Grief & Gratitude in the Musing and Essays link below. Also, my first lesbian lover in a high-profile murder-suicide in Madison, Wisconsin. These are tragic losses which impacted many people. My work was to learn what to hold onto, and what to let go.
This musing has taken me a month to write. I typically begin by outlining a topic in my head, then conduct research by finding images and related content, make bullet points on Post-It notes, then sit at my keyboard and draft it in one or two days, edit, upload the piece to my blog, and share it on social media and with my subscribers. For this essay and reminiscence, I’ve been writing, remembering, and grieving. I’ve taken needed breaks so as not to be overwhelmed. Death and dying has been front and center every day.
During the past month, my ex-husband and first love was hospitalized and had his leg amputated as he recovers in an assisted living facility. Gratefully, we’ve become chosen family and during my visits we’ve reminisced about our shared life. An ex-partner and chosen family member’s mother died this past week. When my ex and I were dating, I was 42-years-old, and she was 22. Her mother accepted her daughter, loved her unconditionally, and welcomed me into their home to share holidays with them, when other family members struggled with accepting their daughter and sister as a lesbian, especially with an older lover.
A week ago, marked the 22nd anniversary of 9/11, a reminder that we grieve the deaths of people we have never met, and how important it is to make sense of tragedies so we can move on. These losses, personal and public, seem morbid, maudlin, and/or depressing in the retelling, however, what’s required of me is to lean into my grief, identify and hold onto the gratitude of my shared experiences and memories as I grieve and let go of people in life. For readers, hold on a while longer, as I share the lessons I’ve learned. There is solace and lessons in grief.
Rainbow, NYC, September 11, 2023. Photo credit: Andres Kudacki/AP
Today
Today is a perfect representation of the cycles of life. It’s my youngest sister, Tami’s, 55th birthday. Almost 19 years separate us and we never lived together though we’ve always been kindred spirits. She is the one family member who followed me to Madison and established roots here, married, raised her children, and successfully launched her jewelry business. She is one of my best friends. Yes, I’m lucky. I have more than one best friend from different circles of my life. Grateful.
Sometimes the simple mundane moments of everyday life can provide comfort when we’re grieving. Ex and chosen family member Tracy, my support person and more during my hip-replacement in December, and my accidental fall and fracture of my arm at the shoulder, is joining me to watch the Green Bay Packers game this afternoon. On Thursday, Tracy’s beloved mother died. Though we will inevitably talk about her loss, sometimes being in the presence of a loved one sharing an activity is a reminder that life goes on.
Later this afternoon, Tracy and I will join mutual friends in a Celebration of Life for a friend, Dana, Tracy’s and mutual friend, Mary’s, former bandmate from Her Face. When Tracy and I were a couple, so many decades ago, I was a groupie and would sit-in during rehearsals and witness the creativity and snarky interplay between the three. When they performed, I became a roadie and one of their biggest fans.
Her Face. Left to right, Mary, Dana, center, Tracy, right.
Today, friends will be honoring the life of a young man, Evan, who died prematurely. Our friend Jane has decided to donate her son’s organs, his heart, liver, and kidney, plus a potential pancreas recipient. Friends and family will participate in an Honor Walk at the hospital as he is taken to the operating room from his room and a flag service when his surgery begins.
The cycle of life…
Tomorrow
The future has been on mind. As I live this final chapter of my life, I want to live it with intention and meaning. I’m conscious of what may remain as a legacy after my death. Have I made the most of the gift I was given? As I’ve aged, I’ve become more introverted as I live a solitary life at home, yet I have a large circle of chosen family, friends, plus my bio family, work colleagues, and community collaborators, both creative and social justice. My life is rich and full of love.
Tomorrow, I join one of my best friends, yes, I have many, Janet, Louise to my Thelma. Janet moved to Minnesota and we’ve maintained our friendship, though distance divides us. Janet is in town to visit her friend and former work colleague, Andrea, who was recently transferred from an assisted living facility, Oak Park Place Nakoma to Agrace Hospicecare. In a six degrees of separation moment, my ex-husband and chosen family, Frank, is recovering from the amputation of his leg at the same assisted living facility.
Janet and I will commiserate over dinner as we share our grief and gratitude and celebrate the lives of people we love.
AKA, Thelma & Louise, Janet on the right, I’m on the left. Enjoying steak and each others’ company at The Harvey House celebrating our birthdays.
Lessons Learned
I’m grateful that I’ve had the opportunity to make amends and have final goodbyes with many of the people important to me in life, and now afterwards, remain preserved in memories. With each letting go, each grief journey, I’ve learned more about life itself and more about who I am and how I choose to live this remaining chapter of my life. Following are a few lessons:
An excerpt from The Impermanence of Life:
“For myself, I’m at the threshold of the third act of my life. I may have thirty more years ahead, or just today. This awareness makes each day more precious. It also requires me to live more consciously and with intention. Like a young child, I’m relearning the lessons of what to hold onto and what to let go. Material things begin to have less importance, while living an authentic and spiritual life becomes a mandate. I feel compelled to reach out and make amends to people in my life that I’ve hurt, to address unfinished business when and where I can, to let go of resentments and learn to practice forgiveness, to not be afraid to be vulnerable and love, and finally, live each day as if it were my last.”
An excerpt from Memories Are Made of This: Grief & Gratitude:
“It’s been a year when grief and gratitude have gone hand-in-hand. I’m at an age when this is the template for the future too. I’m full of grief remembering my friends, family, and loved ones who are no longer present in my life except in memory. The thing about grief and loss, is that we re-experience every death, every loss, with each new letting go.”
As I experienced health challenges this year, I’ve learned too to ask for and accept help, once a challenge for me as a stubbornly independent woman. I realized that ‘it takes a village,’ and I will need more help as I age. Again, grateful!
Lastly, I’ve also had the privilege of being a member of a Death & Dying Peer Support Group (it’s more about life and living). We’ve met once a month for the past 8-10 years (losing track of time is a true sign of living in the moment). We share readings, Ted Talks, books, videos, resources, and more. We check-in with each other and discuss how we choose to live our remaining time and identify and communicate to friends and family our end-of-life wishes. I’m so grateful to have witnessed and been gifted first-hand, the wisdom of our friendship circle of people of a certain age. I’ve learned so much. Again, my life is richer.
I read this poem at a friend’s Celebration of Life in the past and may share it again today at another friend’s gathering. It’s a reminder for me that if we live our best life and passions, this will become our legacy.
Charlotte Eriksson’s Poem
“… so this is for us.
This is for us who sing, write, dance, act, study, run and love
and this is for doing it even if no one will ever know
because the beauty is in the act of doing it.
Not what it can lead to.
This is for the times I lose myself while writing, singing, playing
and no one is around and they will never know
but I will forever remember
and that shines brighter than any praise or fame or glory I will ever have,
and this is for you who write or play or read or sing
by yourself with the light off and door closed
when the world is asleep and the stars are aligned
and maybe no one will ever hear it
or read your words
or know your thoughts
but it doesn’t make it less glorious.
It makes it ethereal. Mysterious.
Infinite.
For it belongs to you and whatever God or spirit you believe in
and only you can decide how much it meant
and means
and will forever mean
and other people will experience it too
through you.
Through your spirit. Through the way you talk.
Through the way you walk and love and laugh and care
and I never meant to write this long
but what I want to say is:
Don’t try to present your art by making other people read or hear or see or touch it; make them feel it. Wear your art like your heart on your sleeve and keep it alive by making people feel a little better. Feel a little lighter. Create art in order for yourself to become yourself
and let your very existence be your song, your poem, your story.
Let your very identity be your book.
Let the way people say your name sound like the sweetest melody.
So go create. Take photographs in the wood, run alone in the rain and sing your heart out high up on a mountain
where no one will ever hear
and your very existence will be the most hypnotizing scar.
Make your life be your art
and you will never be forgotten.”
The following Top Five Regrets and 15 Lessons are from the book The Top Five Regrets of the Dying by Bronnie Ware:
The Top Five Regrets of the Dying
- I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
- I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.
- I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
- I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
- I wish I had let myself be happier.
15 Lessons
- Live Authentically: Be true to yourself and your values. Don’t live your life according to the expectations and opinions of others.
- Prioritize Happiness: Strive to live a life that brings you joy and fulfillment. Pursue your passions and do things that make you genuinely happy.
- Stay Connected: Cultivate and nurture relationships with family and friends. Cherish the moments you share with loved ones.
- Express Your Feelings: Don’t suppress your emotions or keep your feelings hidden. Communicate openly with the people in your life.
- Work-Life Balance: Avoid overworking and neglecting other aspects of your life. Find a balance that allows you to spend quality time with loved ones and engage in activities you enjoy.
- Regret Inaction More Than Failure: Take risks and pursue your dreams. It’s better to try and fail than to live with the regret of never trying at all.
- Choose Courage Over Comfort: Don’t let fear hold you back. Embrace challenges and step outside your comfort zone to experience personal growth.
- Practice Self-Care: Take care of your physical, emotional, and mental well-being. Prioritize self-care and avoid neglecting your own needs.
- Forgive and Let Go: Holding onto grudges and negative feelings only weighs you down. Practice forgiveness and let go of resentment.
- Express Yourself: Don’t suppress your creativity or withhold your ideas. Share your thoughts and creative expressions with the world.
- Savor the Present: Be mindful of the present moment. Don’t get so caught up in the future or the past that you miss out on the beauty of the now.
- Live Without Regrets: Make decisions that align with your values and aspirations. Live in a way that minimizes the likelihood of future regrets.
- Material Possessions Aren’t Everything: Focus on experiences and relationships rather than accumulating material possessions. The memories you create and the connections you forge are more valuable.
- Stay Close to Nature: Spend time in nature, appreciate its beauty, and connect with the natural world around you.
- Embrace Aging: Embrace the aging process and see it as a privilege denied to many. Don’t fear growing older; instead, focus on the wisdom and experiences it brings.
I leave you with these words from the book, I Will Not Die an Unlived Life, by Dawna Markova. I read this poem at the Celebration of Life for my friend and mentor, Elthea Gill, who taught me so much about life, death, grief, and gratitude.
Related Reading from Mixed Metaphors, Oh, My!
Poetry
Tributes
The Loud Family Loses a Loved One
Without Her: A Mother’s Day Lament
Celebrating 62 Psychedelic Years of Cindy Castro
9/11: When Time Stops & Memories Live On
Essays & Musings
Letter to Loved Ones (Just in Case)
Memories Are Made of This: Grief & Gratitude
Reading List