What We Learn

What we learn from the deceased is what makes us go on, I know this to be true. If we are able, and open to it, we learn so much. It doesn't matter who it is, even those we didn't personally know in this lifetime, it is upon their "death" that we often come to know them more deeply, intimately, and their lives make a difference. Whether it is the sad passing this week of Steve Jobs, the recent passage of two daughters in political families, former presidents, the many friends who have joined our circle of loss, those burying their children before them, it just doesn't matter. Loss is loss and the impact is astounding. Death takes their bodies, but their souls and spirits are left to teach us more. I know this because I cannot look at a snowflake without remembering Phil, a piece of artwork without knowing more about Jessica, a beautiful August day without understanding baby Faith's presence. I cannot look at little Jasmine's picture on my refrigerator without smiling inside, thanking her and her family for paving the way and embracing my own family, some years later, when it was "our turn" to face death. I cannot look at little Cowen's pictures without seeing his sister, Lily. I feel and know Michael is with me in all aspects of my day, guiding and inspiring, and reassuring me in ways he would not be able to do if still here. I will always associate the beauty of a winter day and a life well lived with Chrissy, a sister, wife, but most importantly, young mother who left us way too soon. The hummingbirds that rest on our feeder and who provide such beauty and mystery will always represent Jim, not his battle, but his life. I am connected to Mary, whose own Erin has passed on and each time I see a sunflower, I feel as though I know her, and my heart feels joy. Then there are the connections of CJ and his family, a circle we both travelled well, yet paths never crossed, until Allison and CJ were our heavenly children. I still draw strength and resilience from Elizabeth Edwards, a political wife, who in spite of all the tragedies in her life, her own cancer and spousal betrayal, till her death contended that the loss of her son to a tragic accident was the most devastating part of her life. I have come to know and learn from each death along the way. Whether it is the wife and mother across the street, and now the young man, Steven, also a family member from across the street, it is what we learn that now sustains us and gives us strength. We cannot possibly know everyone in this lifetime, but the beauty of death is that we come to know so much more, and it is what we learn that keeps us going.

Obviously, I cannot look and see, very deeply, the signs of autumn, in all its beauty and splendor without knowing that this season was to be Allison's last. There is no escaping the memories, the triggers, the flashbacks, even when I don't want to. The sleepless nights have begun and the memories are strong, showing me that time doesn't make a difference, what is in our soul, the deepest crevices of our hearts, remains. It's how I choose to deal with them that matters, after all. So, I choose to learn. I study, I reflect, I pray, I listen to music, I read, I take every opportunity to learn from the deaths before me, long ago, and recent. It is important to me to honor each life in the way I can, especially Allison's. And I must admit, on any given day, that is going to look different. I may spend it in solitude, scrapbooking, cooking, baking, reading, relaxing with head phones, sleeping, socializing, whatever it takes to get through that moment. Not that day, not even that hour, sometimes, it's still, just that moment.

What we learn from death becomes important. That's how I feel, cope and maneuver this loss. What I have learned from Allison and her passage could fill volumes. I have learned to smile, savor, slow down, sip, enjoy, smell the roses, so to speak. I have learned that life is so fragile, a concept I wish every one of us could grasp, but we don't, until it's our time to do so. I have learned that there is nothing worth complaining about. There is no doubt the way in which she faced her diagnosis and ultimate death left us a legacy of hope, faith and love. I can do anything now, and will gladly do so, face the challenges, and come out stronger. I am weak but I am strong, that is what I have learned.

I so wish to touch her, to hold her, to feel her. The ache of physical desire takes me to my knees at times. I allow that grief to pour over me, infiltrate and I rise, taking on the challenge of suffering once more. I cling to the promise that I will see her again one day, that THIS world is temporary, and that in death, her death, and the death of so many, I have much to learn. That is her legacy, their legacies, to us. God grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change and learn what is intended, so that when it is my turn to take that first breath in heaven, God will know the true intentions of my heart, and He will consider me a good and faithful servant.

I will keep learning, trying, and put perseverance to the test. What LOOKS easy is not. Nothing comes by second nature any longer. It's a new day with much to see and do, and learn. With God as their Father, Allison, and all the others, are great teachers.