Living and dying … and living on in those we’ve touched

We all know that dying is an inevitable part of living.  Knowing it doesn’t mean we are ever ready to lose a loved one; even though we know it’s one of the few constants in life, knowing it doesn’t make it any easier.  We’re told that those people who have made a difference in our lives – in whatever way – will live on in us even when they are no longer here.  Their spirit and their kindness to us has become a part of who we are.  We know this and we experience it, but it doesn’t make the physical loss any easier.

My husband and I are now of an age where we’re reminded of the dying-is-part-of-living reality entirely too often; it goes with the territory of having had the privilege of living a very full (long) life.  Eventually full lives come to an end … and sometimes they end earlier than they should. This week, family and friends gathered to celebrate the life of my sister-in-law, a total force of nature who passed away unexpectedly – shockingly – just before her 70^th birthday. The remembrances voiced by family, friends and also friends of her children at this event spoke to the ways in which she had impacted their lives.  What stood out for each of them were the many and various kindnesses she had shown them throughout the years, going out of her way to make things easier, better, or more fun for them.

And that’s the lesson we need to keep being reminded of, over and over again: we don’t find happiness in how much money we accumulate or how much we own, we find happiness in having warm and meaningful interactions with others. And being generous in spirit and generous of our time are such powerful (and free) ways by which we can have a positive impact on others and also find inner happiness.

Each of her four grown children spoke at my sister-in-law’s celebration of life. One of my nieces, Clare Currie (my Mom’s namesake), told me ahead of time that she hadn’t known know what to say, and her husband had advised her to just write whatever came to her mind. She told me she had ended up writing a poem, which she had never done before. I’ll be honest, I was blown away by how impactful I found this poem. I hope it’s not Clare’s last writing effort. It’s very much her heartfelt words about her relationship with her mother, but I think it speaks to anyone who’s lost anyone near and dear to them.  I’m sharing Clare’s poem with her permission. I hope you will find in it the same outpouring of love – and expression of the strong continuing “presence” of those close to us who are no longer physically present – that I did. Thank you, Clare. ❤

To You

When I was bored….. she was the person I would call.

When I was frustrated (about something at work or life)…… she was the person I would call.

When I was proud (of something the boys did or of myself)…… she was the person I would call.

When I needed advice (about money, about friends, about just about anything)…… she was the person I would call.

When I just wanted company (during late night baby wakings or long rainy days)…… she was the person I would call.

When I needed my mother. … she was obviously the person I would call.

She was more than my mother. …. She. Was. My. Person.

But it’s okay.

It’s okay that she’s not here anymore because she can still be my person.

It’s okay that she’s not here anymore because when I get overwhelmed…… I listen to her.

It’s okay that she’s not here anymore because when the kids play with the toys she bought…… I see her.

It’s okay that she’s not here anymore because when there are struggles…… I talk to her.

It’s okay that she’s not here anymore because when we laugh and play…… I feel her joy.

It’s okay that she’s not here anymore…… because we will be all right.

It’s okay.

We will be okay.