Confronting my death

It's occurring to me that death may be more difficult for the survivors than for the person who's died. As I've reflected on the death of the wife of a close friend, and then some more on a couple of old golf buddies from the neighborhood, I've realized my attitude toward my own pending death - no I'm not expecting it to be near-at-hand - has shifted sometime in recent years.

I don't mean by shifted that there has been some dramatic epiphany. I teased a younger golf buddy last week that old age doesn't arrive via an announcement. It's not like there's a ceremony with trumpets and a flourish! For me it's been more like a gradual acceptance, accompanied by an easing of the fear of death.

As I've worked to ease the pain of my friend and the people who constituted her community, I've had to confront the impact that one's death has on one's community. In this case the death was one of those horror deaths, unexpected, before-her-time, and violent. It left all of us who knew her, and him, impacted and struggling with the unfairness of it.

Today I was watching the morning news about a man in Kansas who went on a shooting rampage and killed several of his co-workers. The reporters succeeded in getting interviews with the loved ones of a couple of the victims, and as they shared their anguish, I realized it was very close to that experienced by my friend when he lost his wife.

Shortly thereafter the news was showing pictures of disasters from storms in the Pacific, where entire villages were wiped out by cyclones, and the survivors were receiving no aid due to the wide-spread nature of the storm and the isolation of these villages. More people living the shock of instant loss.

I recall thinking as I watched, that at any given moment there are likely to be thousands of people on this planet who are dying in unexpected circumstances each and every day, leaving behind tens of thousands of people who had to deal with the tragedy and consequences of those deaths.

It got me to thinking about my death. That's when I realized there was no fear about it. I can authentically say, if I were to unexpectedly die tomorrow I would be OK about it. I'm happy and fulfilled in the life I've lead. At the same time I began to think about the impact on my family and close friends, if it was sudden and tragic. It occurred to me it would be harder for them to accept than it is for me to contemplate. Of course! Once I'm dead, I don't really have anymore thoughts about it.

I could see that much of the sadness and grief we experience after an unexpected death, is not for the person who has passed. It's for those of us who have survived. It's not about the death, it's about the loss. And while there's a bit of that dynamic with an expected passing - as in old age death, or death from a long illness - it is greatly tempered by the lead time we have to prepare for the final occasion..That time to prepare seems key to the degree to which we are impacted. It seems to soften the grief. It seems to allow us to more clearly celebrate the life of the person who's passed and less necessarily deal with the loss in our own lives.

Another piece that's become clear to me is how much each of us, to a greater or lesser extent, is surrounded by a community of people who love us. It's not so apparent to us in our day-to-day existences, as we are focused on the business of survival. It's not there like a presence, even with our closest friends and family. It's almost as though if we are not confronted by it in some way - a spoken word, an act, a gesture, an acknowledgement of some kind - the background of love becomes transparent. It disappears.

Like ripples in a pond we each have communities of families, friends, and those who respect us, that emanate out into the world to impact hundreds or maybe thousands of others. Each direct relationship constitutes another whole set of relationships who though they may be one step removed are also impacted by the first circle. And the second circle begets a third and so on, out into the world.

In these moments therefore of unexpected deaths, the grief pours out into those circles, that community that is attached to and surrounding each of us, such that the entire community is impacted and needs to deal with that onslaught of suddenness, and sadness, and loss.

What I am wondering is how, during these moments of community grief, we can rise above the suffering to celebrate the life and contribution of our loved one. Cathartic if we can? Yes. Easy to do? No.

And how, before my own pending last moment, do I prepare my community to be able to celebrate our relationship and the time we have enjoyed together, so that the loved ones who survive me, can go about living their lives to their fullest?

And oh, by-the-way, we have a choice! We all have a choice. We can deny, avoid, or be numb to, the circles that constitute our community. It's easy. Just go on living with your head down, attending to your survival, and your community will disappear. Outta-sight-outta-mind.

We can also choose to confront, be concerned for/responsible for, the existence and import of our relationships. There are the villages that raised us, the communities that love, accept, and support us. There are the colleagues we work with and with whom we share purpose, the family that puts up with our idiosyncrasies, our religious and political families, our sports and adventure families; the people we drink with, dance with, laugh and cry with; the people who know and love the people we know and love, and so know of us and accept us as part of their world. And so on out, out personal ripples on the lakes of our lives.

Choosing to be responsible for our communities begets integrity. And in some circles it's called wisdom.