I recently watched the bittersweet scene of my grandfather saying goodbye to his wife of over 50 years. Even though she was aging and her health was failing, none of us were really prepared for Grandma to go. At her wake I watched as my Grandfather gingerly touched her hand for the last time. The look on his face as he recoiled from the cold, lifeless limb will stay with me forever. He was surrounded by his children, but I could tell by the look on his face that for that brief moment, he felt totally alone. My heart ached for him as I watched helplessly. His children comforted him as they engulfed him in a tearful, but moving embrace. I watched this scene and couldn't help thinking about my husband and the fact that one of us would lose the other at some point in our lives. The thought sunk into my heart like a stone tossed into a pond: even if you are lucky enough to find a partner to spend your life with you will inevitably have to let them go.
I stayed in New York to spend time with Grandpa after that. Sometimes he seemed blissfully unaware of the situation, distracted by all the visitors and events during the week that followed. Some days he and I would sit quietly in my uncle's living room. Sitting there, holding his hand there were times when I could feel his grief rise up, and would watch as his eyes filled with tears. I wanted to say something, do something that could take that pain away, but instead I just squeezed his hand and told him I loved him. I realized that he must deal with his own grief, just as I must deal with mine.
The reality of losing my grandmother, the first major death in my family, is still settling in. Sometimes I feel fine. I smile when a cool breeze passes and wonder if it was her. I look through pictures and smile or giggle to myself at the memories she left me with. Other times, I feel like crying, but immediately reprimand myself for the wasted energy. Tears won't help me cope, I say to myself...and yet, here I sit blogging through my tears. When the waves of emotion come all I can see in my mind is that look on Grandpa's face as he realized she was gone and then a flash of anxiety as I put myself in his shoes. Do I want to enjoy 50 years with my amazing husband, only to have to go through that agony myself someday?
The answer to that question comes to me in ways that I can't seem to put into words. The only simple answer is that loving makes life worth living. The relationships we build are what truly matters. The fact that the bodies we inhabit eventually decay and die is irrelevant. All I can do to battle my grief and fear is to enjoy those relationships and recognize the staying power they have. Grandma is gone, but she left a mark on so many people that it is hard to think of it that way. I want to share my love openly and fully. I want to stop holding grudges and forgive people. I want to stop worrying about the future, for myself and those around me. I simply want to be in the present and enjoy it. Each moment is precious and is an opportunity for something new and exciting to take place.
Reading and self-reflection have left me with the following insights about death. Without death, there cannot be life. Everything that dies, does so in order for something else to live. All life is connected and without death it cannot be shared. If we think of life and death as a process, like waves moving in the ocean, we can hardly be upset by it. We do not grieve the waves as they recede back into the ocean, we know that another will be on its way soon. If we stop thinking of death as destruction, we can see clearly that it is simply a process of change. I deeply believe that through spirituality we can come to know that which is endless and undying. I now set myself to the task of finding this knowledge and thus finding true peace and joy.
In horror of death, I took to the mountains -
Again and again I meditated on the uncertainty of the hour of death,
Capturing the fortress of the deathless unending nature of mind.
Now all fear of death is over and done.
- Milarepa
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