“‘Our world has been around longer than you can imagine. Your Ma lived in her time and you live in yours. You both lined up for a good nine years. What are the chances of that, in all of human time? Near impossible. Count yourself lucky.'”
–Roger Weathersby, Man of Science, The Resurrectionist of Caligo by Wendy Trimboli and Alicia Zaloga

We celebrated Mary’s life three weeks ago. Two days ago my friend’s 95 year-old father was transferred to the intensive care unit and needed medications to maintain blood pressure; I really worried he would die and my friend may not make it home in time to say goodbye. But he pulled through and my friend is with him now. Yesterday I had the privilege of participating in the life celebration of Hiroshi (Paul) Shimotake, father of my dear friend Tom. Tom, Janet, kids and extended family returned to Chicago for the memorial at the church where both Hiroshi and Hiroko and Tom and Janet were married. It was one of the loveliest tributes I have ever experienced, and I got unusually emotional.

I think it’s normal to take life for granted, at least a little. We make plans assuming we will still be alive and well tomorrow, next week, next year, several years from now–of course we do. Still, none of us knows how much longer any of us have in this lifetime. These recent remembrances bring to mind my own family’s future, as the kids’ independent lives begin in earnest and my parents’ approach their sunsets. What will stand out most when we recall our shared past? What insights will we only gain when our people have passed on? What will we wish we had said or done, cleared, resolved, or mended? As well as we know ourselves and might predict how the death of a loved one will affect us, I’m sure we cannot possibly know until it happens. So much (most? all?) of life is such, no? We can study all we want, and theoretical knowledge is still no match for first hand experience.

I recently gave Mary’s spouse the twelve Remembrance Love Notes. Yesterday I gave Tom and family Love, Homecoming, and Reunion. That felt right. I still find peace in the wish, “May their memory be a blessing,” as it acknowledges the passing as well as the legacy. I chose remembrance as the theme of my post after ‘grief’ and ‘loss’ both felt incomplete. I know we must journey through all of the feelings, memories, and processing, recurrently and often in convoluted fashion, over time. That’s just how it is. And of course, it’s just so much easier to do it together. I think the meaning we make this way is deeper, more connecting, and more healing.

“Mortality has no domain over love,” I wrote in my card to the family yesterday. I meant ‘no dominion,’ but I think they will still catch my meaning.

What a reassuring way to think of death, no? It hurts for those left behind, but if there was/is love, then the pain can be borne, especially if we share it. And isn’t that the case with most (any?) pain? I say often that pain is inevitable and suffering can be a choice. We mitigate our suffering by sharing our pain, no? I’m generally not a fan of formal or rigid rituals, but I appreciate better their comfort and importance for connection as I age.

How wonderful to be able to hold my friends’ loss, grief, and remembrances with them. I had not anticipated some of my own visceral, emotional, or cognitive responses. But I am not at all surprised, and infinitely grateful, for the glowing fullness I feel in my heart from tightening meaningful connections, even in these sad circumstances.

Death comes for us all eventually. What will help us be at peace at our end? What will we regret? How can we live today to make the balance of both be what we want? What can we do now to help our loved ones make it for themselves? Every life and death is experienced individually, even when we come together to share them. What helps us hold the space for ourselves and one another? I think the best we can do is simply to live intentionally and according to our highest values, and to maintain our connections to the people and causes that matter most. Relationships and meaning. Simple and complex, both.

In my middle age I see life as both long and short. It makes me smile. I’ve had such good fortune, done so much, come through my challenges relatively unscathed. And there is still so much to look forward to, so much more to experience and learn. So bring it! I can take good care of myself and those around me so we may all have the best chance at maximally enjoying one another and whatever time we have left together. And when any of us passes, my greatest wish is that we nurture the hurt with all the love, and not fear the pain. That deep, strong, soul-saving love, cultivated now and sustained later, is worth the pain of grief, I say today. But when death claims someone I love, will I wish I loved them less, so I could hurt less? I can imagine that thought crossing my mind. I hope if it does, that I will allow it, investigate it, and nurture it as well, and nurture myself and others in patience and compassion.

So let us all live fully, my friends, and remember our loved ones in word, action, and relationship. That is the best way I can think of to honor us all.