If we could have it our way, our little ones would never know the pain, sadness or fear of losing someone that they love.  Grandparents, siblings and especially parents would always be there with hugs and support and most of all love.  The thing is, of all of life’s experiences, the one thing that is a guarantee for each of us, is that we die.  We can pretend it’s not real, or that everyone dies at a ripe old age, (there is no consensus on what age that might be, ninety-nine year olds often feel that one hundred is too short), but the truth is, death is usually a surprise that happens too soon.

 

I believe that life is changed, but not ended and love lives on.   Last year, my dad died in my arms after a long struggle with cancer that ended in a ten-day trial of endurance, agony and finally freedom.  I saw miracles in each day.  There was fear transformed into grace.   Pain turned to healing and sorrow turned to joy.  In every way, mine and my dad’s lives were changed, but not ended.

 

Even now, as I write this, I wonder what is too personal to share.  My beliefs are personal and I lived them in a most intimate and fundamental way during those final days of my dad’s life.  Dying is a profoundly personal experience.  It’s not about the way we wish things were, it is supremely about the way things really are.  We are to each other what we always were, for better or worse; that is how it starts.  Then comes the journey.

 

I was given the honor and gift of caring for my dad at home with my mom.  It didn’t seem like much of a gift at the time.  Corporal care is hard work and his dignity and privacy remain precious to me even now.  He died with courage and he moved from denial and fear to acceptance and even joy in those last days.  It was my privilege to accompany him as far as I could on his journey.  He died in my arms on a Sunday morning.  I sang him “Amazing Grace” and he just closed his eyes, (I guess he was relieved to get away from my singing.)

 

My dad’s last words to me came the night before.  While he could still talk, he looked at me and said, “Love you, Darling.”  I love him too.   Still do, that’s the thing about love, it lives on.  I wanted my children to know that, but in the days before my dad’s death, I was with him, about 75 miles from my own family.  My kids knew, Papa, as they called him, was on his way to heaven, but even when you know it’s coming, death is a surprise.

 

I knew I couldn’t shield them from it.  This is not like the goldfish you can replace while they are at school and hope they won’t notice; and even if you could get away with it, why?  This was a chance to help my family through the one experience they will have to deal with over and over again, guaranteed.  I don’t want them to live in a macabre foreboding of their own demise. But neither do I want them to live in fear.

 

So, how do we help our children understand and cope with a topic that makes many people so uncomfortable, they avoid even the living people who are going through it?  Enter the butterflies and dragonflies.  Beautiful examples from nature that perfectly explain our understanding of what happens when a person dies.

 

Caterpillars are pretty happy bugs living in the leaves and eating all day.  As far as they know, it’s a good life and they like it.  Then one day, their caterpillar bodies know it’s time to rest inside a cocoon.  All the other caterpillars may be worried about that or they may feel like it’s a good idea, but either way, the caterpillar’s life is changing.  A little while later, the new life is ready to begin.  A new creature pushes through the cocoon veil and lo and behold, this is not the worn out caterpillar anymore.  What emerges is a new and winged butterfly that soars in the sunshine and sips nectar from the flowers.  This colorful creature may look at the other caterpillars and feel love, but I doubt there is any butterfly that wants to go back.

 

The same thing is true of dragonflies.  They begin their lives in the murky water where they can see the sun, but never quite feel its warmth.  They know no other world and so, they are probably happy right where they are.  Then one day, their time under the surface is over.  They might be afraid, but it doesn’t matter, they simply must rise.  The immature dragonfly pushes up and through the water.  As it breaks the surface for the first time, the new creation knows two things; the universe is much bigger, warmer and colorful from up here and there is no going back.  We’ve all seen dragonflies skimming the water, but they will never again dive below.

 

For me, it’s helpful to think about dying like that.  It is a change we will all go through and for those of us left behind, we don’t know what comes next.  We fear the unknown and that’s natural.  Death is natural too and it is what makes life so precious and worth celebrating.

 

I hope I get the chance to tell my kids I love them in the moments before I die, but just in case I don’t, I want my life to show them that love is real and lives on.   I want to teach them that death happens and that they are still safe and not alone in this world.  I want them to know, from a very young age, that we do not fear the dying.  We should comfort them, not avoid them, because there will be a time when we are them.  I want my kids to understand that life is changed, not ended.  Whatever we were to each other, we still are.  Love lives on.   Life is precious and joy is worth finding.  I want my time here to show them a life well lived and a job well done.

 

Think about what you want your life to say.  Life is short, no matter how long we live.  Life is full and busy and scary and fun and that is not only okay, it is cause for celebration.   I hope and pray my life will be one big “Love you, Darling,” to my family and my world.  What do you want to say?  I hope you get to say it with your words and with your life every precious and joyful day.

 

May you keep your face to the sun, so all the shadows fall behind.

 

Marilynn

Categories: General

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