"A person is dead only when you stop thinking about them", a friend recently said as we discussed death and dying issues.
I am accustomed to rituals that reinforce the absence created by death: open caskets, funeral/memorial services, graveside ceremonies and holidays to honor them.
I immediately thought of deceased loved ones who continue to live in my life.
Several years ago friend died on her 31st birthday. Her death rocked the community who loved her deeply: shocked by the death of someone so young, talented, compassionate and courageous. Her hope was to conquer her disease, devote her life work to comforting others who were suffering, continue traveling with her husband, have children and grow old surrounded by family and friends. Without a doubt, she would have maintained being the nurturing, loving person we all adored.
She battled her illness long and hard, wanting nothing more than the chance to live her dreams.
Near the end of her life, with grace and honesty, she delved into life and death issues. She asked questions about my sister Kathe's death. As she looked at photos of Kathe taken shortly before her death, she wanted to know what it was like for her and for me at the end of her life. Her curiosity and openness allowed others to go on the journey with her.
Her husband gave me her beloved denim jacket. She had worn it as they traveled--often on their motorcycle--to countless places around the globe.
It hung silently, reminding me of her death, during the year of mourning observed by her faith.
At first it felt strange to wear it. Then she visited me in a powerful dream and it was clear she wished to be remembered as fun loving, adventurous and at peace.
I wear the jacket often now. My daughter gave me a large dragonfly pin when my grandmother died (she loved dragonflies!). It sits on the right shoulder of the jacket. On the collar is a carved wooden dove, with an olive branch. Sometimes I add Kathe's favorite scarf.
Since her death, the jacket has been to a refugee camp in Africa, weddings, an ancient cathedral in Puerto Rico (where she once visited), writing groups, women's retreats, the birth of my first grand-daughter, my high school reunion, motorcycle trips, funerals, a cross-country road trip with my childhood friend, camping, hiking, church picnics, volunteering after Hurricane Katrina.
When I wear the jacket I imagine how she might experience the event. I recall the lessons she taught me as she prepared for her death.
My connection to her, through a physical object which represents her life, has helped move me from mourning to celebration of her life.
Is she still alive?
It brings me pleasure to plan the next place I will wear her jacket.
I think she would chuckle about that.
And I enjoy hearing her laughter.
I am accustomed to rituals that reinforce the absence created by death: open caskets, funeral/memorial services, graveside ceremonies and holidays to honor them.
I immediately thought of deceased loved ones who continue to live in my life.
Several years ago friend died on her 31st birthday. Her death rocked the community who loved her deeply: shocked by the death of someone so young, talented, compassionate and courageous. Her hope was to conquer her disease, devote her life work to comforting others who were suffering, continue traveling with her husband, have children and grow old surrounded by family and friends. Without a doubt, she would have maintained being the nurturing, loving person we all adored.
She battled her illness long and hard, wanting nothing more than the chance to live her dreams.
Near the end of her life, with grace and honesty, she delved into life and death issues. She asked questions about my sister Kathe's death. As she looked at photos of Kathe taken shortly before her death, she wanted to know what it was like for her and for me at the end of her life. Her curiosity and openness allowed others to go on the journey with her.
Her husband gave me her beloved denim jacket. She had worn it as they traveled--often on their motorcycle--to countless places around the globe.
It hung silently, reminding me of her death, during the year of mourning observed by her faith.
At first it felt strange to wear it. Then she visited me in a powerful dream and it was clear she wished to be remembered as fun loving, adventurous and at peace.
I wear the jacket often now. My daughter gave me a large dragonfly pin when my grandmother died (she loved dragonflies!). It sits on the right shoulder of the jacket. On the collar is a carved wooden dove, with an olive branch. Sometimes I add Kathe's favorite scarf.
Since her death, the jacket has been to a refugee camp in Africa, weddings, an ancient cathedral in Puerto Rico (where she once visited), writing groups, women's retreats, the birth of my first grand-daughter, my high school reunion, motorcycle trips, funerals, a cross-country road trip with my childhood friend, camping, hiking, church picnics, volunteering after Hurricane Katrina.
When I wear the jacket I imagine how she might experience the event. I recall the lessons she taught me as she prepared for her death.
My connection to her, through a physical object which represents her life, has helped move me from mourning to celebration of her life.
Is she still alive?
It brings me pleasure to plan the next place I will wear her jacket.
I think she would chuckle about that.
And I enjoy hearing her laughter.
