Unavoidable Reminders of Our Mortality

January 7, 2024

It is inevitable that as we grow older, we will be faced with the loss of friends, colleagues, pets, and loved ones. These uneasy reminders of our own mortality can bring up lots of different responses ranging from denial to deep grief.

I remember as a child, sitting alongside my grandfather as he looked through the obituary section of the local paper. It was not unusual for him to tell me about this or that person who he had grown up with, always ending the story with, “May he rest in peace.”

I attribute much of how I respond on learning of the death of people I have known to his modeling; a chance to remember the good times, re-visit shared experiences and follow threads that connect the deceased person to the network of people who have made up my life.

I Am Not Going to Live Forever

This week I attended the memorial service of the woman I thought of as my West-Coast mother, Vinnie Biberdorf. I was 26 when we first met. She was a force of nature who showed up for me as I navigated early adulthood, marriage, and finally a career.

Her life was a model of how to be of service to others and push aside the notion of “can’t do it” and embrace what can be done. Her death was a model of brief, yet stoic suffering. Her memorial service was a celebration of connection and love, the direct result of her lifetime of cultivating friendships and family.

I also attended a Death Café. Started in England back in 2010, Death Cafes are now held world-wide, offering opportunities for people to gather and discuss, without any agenda, their thoughts, concerns, fears, and hopes about death.

Death is a Constant Companion

I now understand that my experiences with death are somewhat out of the ordinary when compared with my peers. Death has been a constant companion of mine since I was three.

My paternal grandfather died of a massive coronary in our house after Thanksgiving dinner. While I don’t remember the event, I do have residual resistance to the Thanksgiving holiday that persists to this day.

My maternal grandmother suddenly died when I was 10. She had diabetes and I was told she died of a heart attack. I was taken out of school, whisked off to the small town where my grandmother’s family still resided, and kept in a back room of the funeral home during the open-casket visitation. The adults didn’t want me to see her corpse, so I was sequestered in a back room. I remember eating pastilles and feeling uneasy seeing my grandfather openly crying as he stood in the line accepting the condolences from friends.

Closer to Home

Just four years later, my father died a slow, lingering, painful death from lymphoma when I was 14. I visited him in the hospital, sitting beside his bed and drawing cartoons, since he was unable to carry on a conversation. The nurses kindly indulged me by hanging the cartoons I had drawn in the nursing station.

He died during the night. My mother was with him at the hospital and came home, exhausted, but said nothing. I just knew he was gone.

My Father’s Funeral

My father’s funeral was attended by just a few family and friends. It was small in number, but very dramatic, as my grandmother stood in the receiving line afterward, wailing at the top of her voice, “My son! My son! My son is dead”.

I was a teenager. I was embarrassed. I buried my grief.

Over the next three years, my paternal grandfather and his sister, my Aunt Nanie, died within a year of one another. More funerals. More residences to be cleared out. More thank you cards sent.

Public Death and Grieving

Kennedy was assassinated when I was in fifth grade, the same year my grandmother died. His funeral, of course, has become emblazoned in my memory, as well as the collective memory of my generation. John-John saluting. Jackie, with her widow’s veil, standing in front of the eternal flame in Arlington.

These were also revolutionary times. The assassinations of Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., the nightly reports of death and destruction over in Viet Nam were interspersed with more tangibly familiar deaths of high school classmates and older relatives.

No One Gets Off this Planet Alive!

As familiar as I am with other’s dying, I am really good with denying that this event is actually, really, going to happen to me. I suspect that each of us comes to this realization differently.

For some, death is unexpected and a surprise. For others, it is a planned-for event. Many of us hold a Norman Rockwell/Walt Disney image of lying serenely in a bed, surrounded by loved ones, with soft music playing in the background, as we separate our physical body from our soul and move into whatever it is that comes next.

What Does Come Next?

Answering that question is really hard. And, in my experience, because there is no “for-sure” answer, the anxiety that arises just contemplating “not-being” is too much for most of us. Fortunately, all cultures have provided explanations of the unknown that help lower that anxiety.

For those raised in the Judeo-Christian tradition(s), there is the promise of Heaven and the threat of Hell. For those practicing in the Buddhist tradition, there is the transitory time in the Bardo states and then a return to samsara. Indigenous peoples and Goddess worshipers return to Mother Earth, completing the cycle. Those who do not have a spiritual practice, mark the cessation of life after no pulse, no breathing, and no brain wave activity. The end.

Rituals and Practices Help

I find comfort in my early childhood memories of the visitations and funerals I was at. For me, knowing there is a process to be followed lowers my concerns over “what’s next” and what, if anything, is expected of me.

I am also a planner, so I have made sure that my paperwork is in order. I have a Will and I have durable powers of attorney for healthcare and finances. These are the legal guardrails that help contain the emotional “what if’s”.

Most Helpful of All for Me

But what really helped me to accept the inevitability of my death was a meditation I learned. I am not suggesting that everybody take this up, but just want to share what has given me a sense of calmness as I face my own end.

On its face, it is very simple. Pay attention as you gently inhale. Allow the breath to fully fill your lungs and your belly. Then gently exhale. Let go of all the breath. Then pause. Repeat until there is no strain in any of these stages. Once you feel relaxed with each stage, allow the following thought to be present: This is my last breath in. This is my last breath out. This is my end.

I would love to hear from you if you have tried a similar practice, or if you have experiences around dying that might be helpful for others. Drop me a line at drmaryflett@gmail.com or add your thoughts to the comment section below.