Today is Daddy’s birthday. Today is also the 17th anniversary of JoAnn’s funeral. Last night, while crying, I told Lily, “I just want tomorrow to be over.”
I don’t know what happens when you die. I’m not exactly sure of the specifics. I’ve known several people who have died – we all have. I like to imagine each one being greeted by the ones that have gone before them. I can imagine, Daddy, utterly devastated to leave us behind, walking up to the group. My grandmother, busy in conversation or reciting a poem, turns around, everyone stops, and she says, “Why Lew Brown.” She holds him as he cries. I wonder if he grieves like we do to be separated from his girls. I imagine JoAnn giving him one of those - hug you so hard she shook- hugs. I imagine everyone catching up on the latest goings on down here on the earth where the rest of us are left. I’m 46. I told Mama the other day, I have 46 year’s worth of people up there, and 46 year’s worth of people down here. People I love dearly on both sides. Daddy has 71 years.
I know that this is not all there is. We all are grossly aware, even from an early age, how short life is. How easily it’s taken from you. How quickly it can all end. The Bible says, “He has set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” Ecclesiastes 3:11. God has put eternity into our hearts. Think about that for a moment. We know that this is way too short. We don’t even get to enjoy our prime because we are just too dumb. By the time we wise up, our prime is long gone, and death is closer than it ever has been.
When I was in my theories class in college, I was very intrigued by existential counseling. Irvin Yalom identified four “ultimate concerns” for people – death, freedom, isolation, and meaning. There’s a whole theory of counseling designed to help people with such issues in their lives, their existential crises. This is such a thing because so many people struggle with issues related to dying or having meaning during this very short life. It’s questions or statements like this: What is my purpose? Why am I here? I’m going to die. This is a very real crisis because there must be more. What’s the point if there’s not more after this?
Before Daddy died, I told him we would be right behind him, and I meant it. It won’t be just a flash, and we will see him again. The book of James says, “Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” We are all, regardless of religion, beliefs, or not, very aware of how short and fragile life is.
I know it’s way too close to Christmas to be talking about death. We are supposed to be merry and jolly. But perhaps it’s the perfect time to talk about it. Christmas is a time when we all hold our loved ones near in our hearts – the ones still here, and the ones who have gone on. We celebrate Christmas with our families. We give them a little nod. We smile at a memory. We toast them before we eat. We thank them. We lay flowers. We tell them we miss them.
Life is so short. This not news to you. So what do we do with the time we have left? I ask myself this question often, especially since I have metastatic cancer. Thankfully, it’s in remission, but I am grossly aware that each Christmas could be my last year. It could be any of our lasts.
I’m not sure what the answer is for you. You will have to find that out for yourself. For me, it looks like doing my best to wake up and be grateful for each moment. It looks like finding adventures in the mediocre. It looks like being the absolute best person I can be. It looks like truly walking like Christ – showing grace, love, and mercy to everyone I come in contact with.
I know, like I said before, this is such a terrible time to talk about death. But we don’t talk much about death. Our culture dodges it, for the most part. We are all very aware of its presence. Its unfairness. Its cruelty. Its mercy.
Happy birthday, Daddy. And to all you who have gone on before us, we hold you in our hearts every single day. Your walk here was too brief for us, but we will see you soon.
May you all, this holiday season, find moments that warm your heart and give your soul peace.
Love to all.
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