May 28, 2011 ~ Day 169 It's About How You LIVE

I hate the obsession we seem to have in our Western society - though maybe this is true the world over - with death and especially the manner in which it comes.

Tonight I got sucked into an article about the recent tornado in Joplin, MO that killed a ton of people and devastated the town... and reading through it left me feeling just awful.

The piece mentioned three tragic stories from the disaster ~ a 31 year old husband who died saving his wife's life as their home was being ripped apart; a father devastated by the loss of both of his tiny sons (ages 3 and 15 months?); and the sudden death of a bright, funny teenager who was literally sucked out of the sunroof of his SUV and dumped unceremoniously into a pond.

Reading this stuff, even though I've never met the families involved, just wrecks me emotionally. I wept as I read the words of that poor wife who had just lost her husband... telling the world, "He was my hero". My own husband had to come sit down next to me on the couch and give me a hug half-way through the article, because suddenly I too was feeling broken down as though I had also suffered a terrible loss.

That's what the paper was hoping for, right? That their articles about death and tragedy will provoke a visceral response in their readers?

Here's what I am constantly left wondering though.

Why do we as a society make such a big deal about the WAY in which a person dies? Sure, it's important to record their passing and eulogize the meaning of their life. As far as I am concerned, every single human being on this planet has true value ~ and I DO think all lives (long or short) should be celebrated.

But WHY are we so fascinated with the kind of death that takes them away from us?

I've touched on this before in past blogs because it really gets under my skin. Our culture seems so fixated on the manner of loss, rather than celebrating the person themselves. Headlines blare: "7 Die in Fiery Auto Wreck!!!" but the articles themselves rarely give more than a phrase or quick sound bite about who those people were and what their lives meant to their families, friends and communities.

It may be just me but sometimes it seems like we've quantified all of the many ways to leave the Earth into "good death" and "bad death". The media learned a long time ago that "bad death" sells a lot more subscriptions than "good death". (I'm guessing this is because people reading about a bad death (a) congratulate themselves on having escaped that Fate for now, and (b) want to inform themselves about how to avoid it in the future.)

I can't stand turning on the TV news or reading the local paper anymore because it seems like 3/4 of the stories are sharing bad news, and the most prominent stories are focused upon death or illness.

A LIFE SHOULD NOT BE JUDGED BY HOW AND WHEN IT ENDS.

There, I've said it.

We've spent our day today with a great friend who happens to work as a professional pilot. He has flown around the world multiple times and tells absolutely riveting stories about his life experiences flying out of Moscow, Tripoli, Dubai and Paris. The life he has chosen to lead is sensationally different from what most of the rest of us in our mid-30s experience on a daily basis; and some skills he has needed to learn for his work include speaking Russian and learning how to use a gun.

Someday, my buddy's line of work may put him in a lousy situation where his plane crashes. (I'm visualizing him living a long, exhilarating, happy life and I truly expect only good things for him - but in reality, at some point he may have a mechanical failure.)

He knows this, and I can guarantee he isn't losing a whit of sleep over it. He has passion for the life he lives and his enthusiasm is infectious. Heck, my husband and I are jazzed by the life this friend is living!

If he does happen to die in a plane crash some day, does this mean that his life had any less meaning than if he died at the age of 98 in his bed? Is there really any purpose or point in fixating on how he goes? Isn't the thing that matters actually the way he's lived his life every single day up until its ending? What about the thousands of times he's flown from one gorgeous city to another and NOT crashed?

I recognize that people submit obituaries to various columns in order to celebrate the value of individual lives. I respect this, and what's more - I have learned about some very interesting, very beautiful lives when reading the obituary page from the small town newspaper printed in our old neighborhood. Wonderful stories about men and women who served in World War II and went on to raise large families, invent things, give amply to charity and cultivate a wide circle of dear friends. Inspiring stories.

I aspire to lead one of those lives. In fact, as a seventh grade teacher one of the assignments I routinely gave my students was to write their own hypothetical obituary from the vantage point of 80 or 90 years in the future, giving them the writing prompt: "How do you want to be remembered?"

One thing I know for certain, I personally do NOT want to be remembered by my loved ones or the world in general for my manner of death - whatever it turns out to be.

Undoubtedly my strong feeling about this has played into the creation of this 365 blog... as I would rather be remembered by my children in my OWN words, for the way that I've lived from day to day.

Even were I to unexpectedly kick off this evening, my children would have 169 pages to remember me by ~ 169 ways in which to know their mother for all of my best and worst qualities: joy, passion, anxiety, hope, frustration, sorrow and unbridled enthusiasm for life. Not to mention, overwhelming love for the three of them.

I'm so tired of reading about deaths. I mean no disrespect ~ but whether you get sucked up by a tornado, murdered in Aruba, smushed in a car wreck, taken out by a nasty bout of H1N1 or done in by cancer or a heart attack... the reality is, we're all going to die someday and our deaths are not truly what make us unique or interesting. In fact they call death "the great equalizer" because it does happen someday to ALL of us - rich or poor, old or young, skinny or large, joyous or depressed.

What matters about any given life is what happens BEFORE death. I want to read about more lives-in-process... the unique journeys, not their predictable destination! From my view the way you *live* is what really matters, along with your character, values, integrity, ability to love, ability to give.

Real life is happening all around us every second - wonderful, vivid, glorious, messy life. I'd like to read more articles about THAT.

March 12, 2011 ~ Day 93 Celebrating Life

We all deal with tragedy differently, and this is something I am coming to terms with as I age and inevitably encounter more loss.

Some people process terrible or sorrowful events with tears, others with anger. Some celebrate the good that has been - such as a life lived fully or a miracle that has come out of disaster - and others demand revenge. Some folks create action committees and vow to right the wrongs of the world, and others hand over their burdens to God and pray. Some of us can't deal with tragedy at all and devote a great deal of our energy to running far away from it.

As might be expected given the nature of this blog, I process loss and tragedy emotively and through communication. When something terrible happens I cry and then typically reach out to talk it over with my loved ones.

A good example of this would be the day my father died, when I was stuck in the hospital about to give birth. I got the news via cell phone from my older brother who had been holding vigil with my sister and mother by my father's bedside for days. At the time a dear friend of mine happened to be visiting me in the hospital, and we wept together.

Soon my mother-in-law and sister-in-law dropped by to visit me, and later that same brother came too. The four of us talked for a while together, and shared our grief and joy over the mysterious and miraculous forces that had brought my father to the end of his life just hours before my daughter would enter the world.

It turns out that my husband processes tragedy quite differently than I do, which is not bad at all - I have actually learned much from watching him deal with heartbreak and loss.

My husband is a "do-er" rather than a talker; although he is quite a capable conversationalist too. When he suffers emotionally, he processes his feelings physically through rigorous exercise and a deep connection to nature. Sitting on a couch talking through his sorrows will not relieve any aching that weighs upon his heart, rather he needs to be pushing his body to its physical limits to literally sweat out the stress and tension.

He also turns to laughter, which at first I did not understand but have grown over the years to see is a really healthy way to process grief. He will turn on a comedy - usually something stupidly witty, even gross 'boy' humor - and chuckle away. At times when we were first together I was surprised by what I saw as an emotional distance from the events unfolding around him, but nearly ten years later I understand that he is actually doing something extremely graceful - finding joy in the good that remains in his world, even when he has lost much.

His mother has a saying, "Life is for the living," which I really like. I think my husband lives by this at a very core level - rather than dissolving under stress or sorrow he throws himself physically or emotionally into being fully alive and appreciating all that he has with happiness and gratitude.

This is one of the interesting and ironic ways in which we differ... I myself *think* about spirituality and the meaning of life all of the time, while my husband rarely thinks about it yet simply *is* a spiritual person whose very essence celebrates being alive. I yearn to be more like him and admire his ability to not get bogged down by tragedy.

Watching video footage of the Japanese earthquake, tsunami and nuclear reactor damage I've been alternately devastated, overwhelmed and horrified by the waking nightmare our Japanese brothers and sisters are facing today. I do feel like they are family to me, even though we have never met, and I mourn their losses with all my heart. I find myself wanting to know about the individual people who perished in that massive and sudden flood of water... what were their life stories? How many children were lost? What were their dreams?

I wish I knew the identity and story behind every single person lost in Japan in the last 24 hours, because it is not their sudden deaths but rather their lives that I wish I could focus on and celebrate. Each of those people had meaning in the world, each of them mattered. I didn't know any of them but they matter to me a lot.

I believe that we are all connected in the web of life and that there is good in all people, ALL people. So I wish I knew something about every one of the farmers, fishermen, travelers and tourists that perished in Japan. I wish I could hug their families and bring them casseroles and help honor their memories.

To process my own grief tonight I pulled up a few recent sermons given (and videotaped) at our church and watched them while washing the dinner dishes. I wanted to feel closer to God, I guess, and to my faith. For me this proved very comforting.

As I grappled to comprehend the magnitude and meaning of the losses that so many have experienced today, my husband processed things in his own way. When he got home from work he took our three children bike riding and later after they went to bed he turned on a re-run of Saturday Night Live. From my post in the kitchen rinsing plates and watching the recent guest minister speak about love and prayer, I heard my man giggling at the opening monologue of SNL. I couldn't help but reflect on the fact that he sounded truly alive ~ and that his heartfelt laughter is a very beautiful sound.

I don't know what happens to us after we die but I do believe that all of life is a gift and we are meant to enjoy and appreciate that gift for as long as we are individually blessed to have it. My husband is teaching me - and our children - how to delight in and appreciate life rather than wallowing in sorrow and loss; a gift of perspective for which I am truly and eternally grateful.