I am struggling today with the reality of death. There were two deaths in my family yesterday: my aunt's beloved husband at age 96, long expected, and my dear cousin of sudden cancer, unexpected. As I feel my own grief and empathy for my loved ones who are grieving, I'm also flooded with memories of other losses (all concentrated in this season).
It's the absoluteness of death. There is a boundary that is crossed, the person present and then suddenly and completely not present. The border between the old life and the new life without them. The world's loss of these beautiful people. My aunt has her wonderful memories but will never feel the loving touch of her husband or see his smile or work side by side in the garden with him. I will never see my cousin's kind smile or hug him; he will never take another photograph. I will never laugh with my sweetheart again; she will never teach another child.
And yet, and yet--being here and present at the crossing point, the edge (I was with my aunt during much of the long quiet waiting at the end of my uncle's life, breathing in each moment with her, just this, just this), I have a taste of beginningless and endless love and time, the still point opening out to something that holds it all. Just a taste.
I'm not sure what I'm asking. How to both feel the human grief and also find my way back to that open space. How to know the meaning of this profound moment.
In deep gassho,
Do Mi
sat and lah
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