It seems morbid to have one’s first blog be about Death, but he seems to be hovering all around me lately, perhaps waiting for me to acknowledge him publicly. I feel your presence, dude. Now move on!
You see, my mother died 7 weeks ago. There was no shock, no drama. She had been suffering with cancer for 18 months and her health declined severely after she decided not to continue with chemotherapy in January. It was a crazy time, and one day I might feel brave enough to write about it.
At the same time, two other families from my workplace lost their mothers, and a colleague lost his father. In between, people in my circle lost someone close to them. Last week my good friend’s 84-year-old mother died. This has just served to intensify my experience.
I’m not suggesting that this is a bad thing. I’m very happy to be feeling (particularly after going around in a bubble for at least a month after my mom died). And I’m happy to be feeling intensely. This is part of being human. But the intensity of these feeling can be a little overwhelming at times. And the world is definitely less better off without these mothers.
I am, by nature, an empathetic person. I feel other people’s joy and their sadness. And for the past few weeks, I am so tuned into what others are experiencing that I can conjure people up! If I think about one of my friends, they call. Crazy! But I think Death’s presence might have a little hand in the clarity of thought and intuition I’m experiencing.
And so I mourn for my mother and I mourn with my friend and I mourn for other lost mothers and the children of those mothers. And I celebrate life and all its craziness and intensity. And I’m ready, Death, for you to move on now. Go quietly. There doesn’t have to be a song and dance. Do not pass Begin. We’ll meet again. But not too soon, please.