We Age, We Get Sick, We Die

I attended a funeral two days ago for an amazing woman who had nothing left at the end of her life except the dust of her remains that were unceremoniously placed in cardboard box with a piece of tape across the front with her first, middle and last name.

At first, seeing this box I felt deep sadness.

It reminded me of what years of elder poverty and extensive time in nursing homes can mean in terms of what we leave behind financially.

But then, when I thought about it, really what more do we need? 

Aren’t birth and death the only two life events where we quite literally don’t have to bring anything with us but ourselves? Isn’t it the one minimalist journey that we truly take alone?

As I went down this line of thinking, I was reminded of a poster I once saw at a Mindfulness Retreat with words by Western Buddhist teacher and author Jack Kornfield that read:

In the end, just three things matter:
How well we have lived.
How well we have loved.
How well we have learned to let go.

This unexpected and spontaneous shift in perspective changed the way I experienced the rest of the funeral.

It was like a very subtle “settling in” to the moment that seemed to let go of the resistance I was carrying inside.

I suppose that is what happens when we practice greater acceptance of universal truths like aging, sickness and death.

Death and dying expert Roshi Joan Halifax referred to this two-sided coin of resistance/acceptance in her 2010 TED Talk called “Compassion and the True Meaning of Empathy” when she began her talk with a reference to the ancient Hindu text, The Mahabharata (that includes the more well-known Bhagavad Gita).

In the talk, she quoted the part of the story in which the Lord of Death, Yamaraja, asks Yudhishthira (brother of Arjuna of the Bhagavad Gita) one question:

What is the most wondrous thing in the world?

To which Yudhishthira answers:

The most wondrous thing is that all around us people can be dying and we don’t realize it can happen to us.

Remembering this story made me wonder: what would it be like to live with a profound acceptance of universal truths like aging, sickness and death? 

At the funeral on Saturday (that was for an 89 year-old woman who died of natural causes which admittedly can make acceptance much easier), I wondered if that level of acceptance might transform a more traditional funeral into an experience more akin to a farewell ceremony that would complement the welcoming ceremony of a newborn that occurs in some cultures at the very beginning of the lifespan; only would be the final goodbye.

In this spirit, the gathering might feel more like the international departures section of an airport, where all of our favorite people are there for the big send-off.

For this fine lady, having  made the unconventional decision years ago not to marry or have children (oh yes, she made a conscious choice!), it meant this particular funeral was attended by generations of nieces, great nieces and nephews, and great-great nieces and nephews- all of whom came together to say farewell to the unofficial matriarch of their family.

For myself, being a somewhat insider-outsider, Margaret Mead-esque person in this particular clan of humans who live and die by the Catholic tradition, the movement into greater acceptance allowed me to watch with warm curiosity and loving-kindness as the priests walked circles around the box of her ashes with incense and recitations of prayers that everyone but me seemed to know.

And having known the intensity of devotion that this feisty, petite French Canadian woman from Northern Maine carried with her throughout her life, I found myself particularly moved by that beautiful Psalm that even us non-Christians are familiar with: Psalm 23.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Listening to this Psalm, I felt a deep reverence for this woman who was the caretaker of all caretakers. I also felt an awe of her unwavering faith.

I always loved the opening lyric to the 1985 Tears for Fears song “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” that goes:

Welcome to your life.
There’s no turning back. 

For me it has that same sense of radical acceptance that our human lives flow in just one direction and we all know how this will end.

So what would a world be like where human beings were able to maintain a consciousness of these universal truths as we live out our day-to-day lives?  Where universal aspects of life including aging, sickness and death could be met and held with reflective acceptance?

I have no idea.

I can only say that on Saturday, being with the pain, as opposed to resisting the truth, did transform the experience of the funeral for me.

Perhaps it may for you as well.