When we hear that a loved one is seriously ill, terminally ill or dying, we tend to wrap ourselves in a sort of armour so that we can cope with it. We might be better served by wrapping ourselves in compassion, for all of our fears about death and dying come into us at such times. Illness and dying are not wrong, not bad and not untimely. Every person who is going through something like that has, at the deepest level of the soul-self, chosen to go through it. It is an integral part of living, this dying. It is an integral part of being, this illness, disability and death.
I've lost three close members of my family, one to physical illness, one to mental illness and one to a sudden and totally unforeseen death. I have communicated with all three afterward, and I have heard and felt them from beyond the grave, or what some call 'the gateway to larger life.' I contend that death is much harder on those left to grieve than it is on those who pass through and go beyond. We might as well envy them their newfound freedom from the aches and pains that seem to be a part of what it means to be in the world.
When a loved one is very ill or dying, it is giving them a great gift to be in acceptance of their experience, in quiet compassion. They are allowed to be ill. They are allowed to be dying. Often we become quite dramatic and demanding in our own grief at the prospect of losing them, or faced with the challenge of watching them suffer. They know that our overwhelming emotions are a sign of how much we love them, but we can let them know that we love them and at the same time, let them go through whatever they are going through without having to worry about how we feel about it.
Doing this takes courage. If you choose to have such courage, you will have it. When our loved one does pass over, we can let them know, in our hearts, that we accept their passing. We can give them leave to go.
We may have a loved one who is very old or very ill and is close to death, but terribly afraid of it. Many people are afraid of death, for many reasons. I knew an old woman, 96 years old and in poor health, although still able to walk and take care of herself in her own apartment, with support from family members. She told me that her life felt very small and solitary and empty, and that she was ready to die and glad to die, except that she was so very afraid. She had been raised as a Catholic and she was certain that she would be judged, and terribly judged, strictly judged, judged with no leniency or mercy. She was afraid of that and so she clung to her lonely and increasingly small life - two rooms and a visit here and there from her daughter, bringing in a few groceries and tidying up. All I could do was listen with compassion. I tried to do more, but to no avail. No one can take away another's fear. Only they can do that for themselves. She is allowed to be afraid, this old woman. He is allowed to deny his own mortality, this old man who has seen countless friends buried.
Some say that our life is defined by the manner in which we face our death. All I know for certain is that I am not afraid of death and yet I deeply honour the feelings of each person with regards to it. I see death as something sacred, something infinitely perfect in its imperative upon each of us.
When a loved one dies, everything stops for us. Our own lives are put to the side for so long as it takes to follow the compulsions of our hearts. We pour ourselves out for the one who has passed and for those gathered in remembrance of that life. Acceptance and unconditional love are our ground at such a time. Accept our own grief and the grief of others. Accept our own anger, sense of betrayal or other emotions. Accept all that is in us and love ourselves anyway, just as we love the one who is gone. Eventually, we are able to accept the death itself.
Until we do this, our joy seems gone from us. It is not gone. It holds itself in the deepest compassion for all that we are in every moment. Our joy is our divinity expressed within us. Our divinity has all the wisdom of the angels, all the compassion of the Christ Consciousness of which it is a part. Our joy does not leave us, but goes very quiet, waiting with infinite patience until we are ready, once again, to hear its song.
And so it is with every loss, every calamity, every ending. The loss of a job, of an identity and a livelihood, is as devastating as the loss of a loved one oftentimes. The loss of a friend, through distance or deep disagreement can be a terrible blow. We lose marriages. We lose children to addictions or distance. We lose our sense of ourselves as having abundance when we lose money on the stock market. We lose faith sometimes and this is very hard.
Whenever we experience a loss, best to call it what it is and allow ourselves to feel whatever it is that comes up for us to feel. Breathe with it, cry through it, talk it over with someone we can trust to hold that space of allowance for us.
For it is absolutely crucial to us that we know we are allowed to feel. And we can give this to each other, this allowance. We can give it to our children as well. Too often, I believe, we tell each other, "Don't cry. Don't be sad." We mean well, but it does not serve. I would much rather hear someone telling me, "Cry for as long as you need to. I'll be right here beside you. Feel whatever it is that is in you. You are allowed to feel sad, or hurt, afraid or angry. You are allowed, dear one. You are allowed."
From that place of allowance, that place that honours us as we are, now, in this moment of grief and vulnerability, we can move the energies of our feeling through us. We can experience these incredibly strong emotions that wash over us like river water in flood. And that is exactly what they are, in a sense. Like floodwaters, they wash through us, wash us clean, clear out our sediments, our emotional debris. They leave us stripped, shaken and gouged out like flashflood canyons in some deserted place. But they leave us clean and clear, knowing ourselves in that moment better than we have ever known ourselves before, and clearly defined, like a riverbank after a storm.
Then comes the sweet, soft sound of our life and love returning to us, with the deepest respect and honour for our feeling and our movement through this storm.
And when we are ready, when we are clear and have allowed a quiet space within so as to hear its slender-noted voice, comes the tuning of our joy song, always there for us, always true.
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