A discussion that I've had fairly often in the last year and a half is a bit morbid for some. This topic has been something that I've spent a lot of time pondering and I believe that it gives me a certain sense of peace (stay with me). With that said, let me give the thesis (if you will). In my opinion, when it is your time to die, it is your time and there isn't anything you can do to alter that. Now let me explain before you panic.
I have had a few deaths in the recent years that have stirred up a blur of emotion and question. Why them? Why now? Why not someone else? What the heck?! In that process, I've always come back to the same conclusion: we aren't in control. Whatever you may believe in - higher power, lower power, e=mc^2 - I don't believe it matters. Your time of death is written in the stars, etched in stone, flowing in your veins and that is that. So often I hear people say that they wish that the deceased had done more to stay around longer, or that had they just done x,y,z they would still be here. While I can understand that line of thought, I find that to be false. What I do believe is that we are in control of the quality of the time we do have.
I encourage you to think of someone that passed in your life too soon - a person who's death was a complete shock. Now I implore to remember what thoughts you battled with. The comparison of their lives to that of someone you'd more likely have expected to pass away first. The frustration that they made a decision that cost them their lives. Whatever it may be, embrace that line of thought for a minute. For this, I will use my own experiences with the loss of my grandpa.
There were a plethora of thoughts that I battled with and somedays I even find myself slipping back into them. When we got the call that my grandpa was sick and had gone into the hospital, it struck a chord in a deep part of my soul. Something settled in my being that felt heavy and vicious. I wasn't sure what the outcome would be, but I knew that everything felt unstable. When we headed to South Dakota, I was filled with so many thoughts, questions, frustrations and worries. What would my family do without the glue? How would we stick together without the funniest and most brilliant adhesive around? Why in the fuck is this happening right now? We had so many more things left to do. I believe it's fair to say that this is something many have felt at one point or another.
The days leading up to my grandpa's death were filled with so many different experiences. I found myself unsure of what to do, where to turn, and what direction to head in the event that my favorite man would be physically absent from my world. My grandpa was a particularly lovely man with a heart of gold for his family, his friends, and his fried chicken. The man loved to eat and many attribute that to his rapidly declining health and his inevitable death. I get it. That's what we've always been taught. If we eat right, work out, meditate, treat others how we want to be treated, and "just say no" to drugs we'll live long and prosperous lives untouched by death's inevitable hand until we are old and grey. While I gather that those aspects can keep our bodies functioning, to what extent do those things increase the days in which we spend on the earth? I don't believe this is an aspect within our mechanisms of control. Had my grandpa been in tip top condition, would he have lived longer? No, I don't believe so.
It was in the moment that he decided it was time to release from his body, I felt a sense of impenetrable pain enhanced with some weird sense of peace. Had it not been the right time, I believe that he would have remained in the hospital bed unchained from the machines that lived for him for longer than he did. It was minutes after the machines went silent that my grandpa slipped peacefully into a deep sleep. The emotion that filled the room was tangible and at times I even felt like I could taste the bitterness of the moment. And oddly I could do nothing, but smile. In some twisted and morbid way, my grandpa's passing was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life (an experience I'd only ever feel one other time up to this point with the birth of my son). There was a moment where I felt his passionate soul encompass us all in a bear hug and I couldn't help but feel so grateful that I had had the opportunity to embrace him, laugh with him, and tell him I loved him once more in person. I dealt with a variety of emotions in the days after his passing and became infuriated with him. I felt resentful that he didn't take better care of himself, I felt resentful that he wouldn't be around to see me get married, have babies, or become the woman I was always meant to be. I felt resentful that he left without us. It was in a dark moment of comparison that everything made sense, suddenly.
I felt robbed of time. How come he had to go and there were still horrible people walking the earth (seemingly) unscathed? The answer became hauntingly simple: it was his inevitable time. Had my grandpa spent time doing things that he didn't love to do, would it have made a difference in the longevity of his life? I don't believe so. What it did do however, was enhance the quality of the life he did have. He enjoyed every moment of his life, the hard parts and the great parts. He smiled everyday and even more so when he was watching Jerry Springer and chowing down on some snacks in his recliner. If I ever learned anything from my grandpa it was that "a day without laughter is a day wasted." And he never wasted a day. Had he focused all of his time and energy on being the "right" size and healthy I truly believe he would have been miserable. He instead, channeled that energy into being the funniest and most incredible man in the room; the leader in educating and informing those of us lucky enough to share space with him; the ultimate supervisor, grandpa, husband, friend, son, brother, and uncle to so many people.
There were so many times that I questioned how people I knew that were heavy into drugs or harmful to others were still around and my sweet grandpa wasn't. I realized that those that are walking a different path than someone else will inevitably come to the same end. Whether they come to that end after bouncing down a rocky terrain or sliding blissfully down a smooth path, the end is always the same: death is inevitable. The quality of the time we are allotted is up to us. We depict what that path will look, feel, sound, and taste like but regardless of which direction we choose, it will end.
We are all here for a purpose and I truly believe that my grandpa not only fulfilled that purpose, he blew his position out of the water. He will forever be a tough act to follow, but I will always do my damnedest to try. His death was the most surprising and eyeopening experience I'd had up to that point and I know that that in and of itself was a lesson to be learned. I will forever wish that he had been able to share more experiences and milestones with me, but I am unequivocally at peace knowing that he did what he was meant to do in this world and that he now gets the unhindered freedom to rest.
It seems to me that if we had the ability to dictate our times of death, we'd live without the necessary passion, courage and convictions that we all use to guide our journey.
On that note, I encourage everyone to live their lives to the absolute best of their abilities, but perhaps focus less on the longevity and more on the quality of the time we are given.
Xx,
Alex
Note: Reposted from my previous blog.
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