This is not the post I was planning to write this week. But sometimes, life intrudes.
This Tuesday I woke up to a text from a dear friend I’ve known for decades saying his wife had died that morning—entirely unexpected and devastating. It’s all I can think about.
I’ve been wanting to write about death here for a while. I just wasn’t sure how it might go over. This is ostensibly a newsletter about fun stuff. It seems a mismatch.
But I think it isn’t.
This newsletter is a tool toward appreciating life: deepening our connection to it, being thoughtful and deliberate. It is a thousand small answers to Mary Oliver’s eternal question: What are you going to do with your one wild and precious life?
In order to fully value our lives, we must understand and accept that they are finite.
Some years ago I read a quote about how everyone is born twice, the first time at birth, and a second time when we realize—truly realize—we are going to die.
[I suspect that was a paraphrase of a Confucius: “Every man has two lives, and the second starts when he realizes he has just one.”]
Having lost a few friends now, I can tell you it absolutely shifts my feelings about life, the preciousness and value of it. I recently read Laurel Braitman’s memoir What Looks Like Bravery, which I really loved, and I appreciate how she talks about the interplay between loss, grief, and life. This is from an interview on the City Arts & Lectures series podcast.
“Grief is like a seasoning…it’s the best seasoning. It turns up the flavor on everything, it makes the colors brighter. I don’t want anyone to have to experience it, and yet if you do experience it you’re in this club in which you really don’t take things for granted in the same way. At least that is what it did for us…
I don’t think it [grief] is something you should try to get over. I think it’s something you keep with you forever and it’s an amplifier of beauty in the world and awe and wonder.”
I hope that doesn’t sound too Pollyanna. I’m not an eternal optimist. As I sit here in my own grief, in my heartbreak for my friend and his family and their children and everyone who is wrecked by the loss of his amazing wife, it’s terribly hard. And yet, how amazing. Perhaps the challenge is to find a way to hold both at the same time.
One of the most affecting things I’ve read recently was an article about life advice from those who are dying, I’ve been thinking of it ever since.
Here are some snippets:
“My life is most likely going to be short, so on my good days…I really live.”
“I’ve never been happier.”
“Do something creative, learn something new, get involved in something that matters to you. Enjoy your life to the last breath.”
“I want to create the best relationships I can, and live the happiest life I can, because I no longer know what my timeframe is.”
“I still care about politics, the climate and my football team, but I don’t get stressed about them anymore. It’s not about the quantity of time I’ve got it, it’s the quality.”
“Cancer has been extremely effective in sorting out what really matters and what doesn’t.”
“I’ve learned that others really want to assist, and it brings them joy knowing they can make a difference, however small.”
“…milestones are bullshit. Nothing needs to be done by a certain age or time; you can always change what you want to do in life.”
There’s much more in the full article: 30 Dying People Explain What Matters.
I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I’m here.
And now to make the most of this extraordinary small fact.
Condolences to your friend on the loss of his wife, and condolences to you as well. And thank you for the links to the articles. Having lost both my parents over the past 6 years (plus my birthday coming up in 2 weeks), thoughts of how we live, how we die, and what really matters are very much on my mind.
Thank you for your deeply meaningful essay.