Sometimes the simplest and most obvious thing to do can be the most illusive action for us to take.  When someone we care about falls ill and is suddenly faced with the finiteness of their physical being, we can have doubts about what to do to help. Is there anything we can do?

 

A couple of months ago I got news that a family member had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and that because of their state of health they would not be following any chemotherapy treatment. Even if we all know that we have to go sometime, it’s daunting to hear the bell toll, so to speak. It’s almost as though there really is a bell tolling because all of the sudden we’re awake in the middle of a nightmare and there’s no going back to sleep. Alas, a bell does not “untoll”.

 

I felt a need to try and make a difference in some way, to bring some light to the situation, and found myself in a bookstore, looking for something that might be soothing for a departing soul. I happened upon “the five people you meet in heaven” by Mitch Albom. I thought I was buying it for this family member, but once I picked it up, I realized it had found its way into my hands for more personal reasons as well.

 

First, I made a point of reading it to make sure it would make an appropriate gift. Expecting a quick read, one night I got deep into it and met a particular one of these people in heaven. I had such an overwhelming and cathartic moment that it left me sobbing in my sheets. Wait a minute, I thought, this isn’t supposed to be about me! Oh. Really?

 

What had most affected me was a question asked in the book: whom have you loved the most in your life? A simple question it seemed, until I began searching for the answer. The one I got was not at all what I expected. I realized my closest relationships had been with souls already departed. And they had not been in a typical “relationship” context. They had been with friends and family I had loved dearly, and more specifically through to their dying days. The emotional and spiritual education these experiences had provided for me was incredibly profound and remains with me to this day.

 

I was struck though – how was it that I, who had looked for love in a “relationship” my whole life, had experienced it most intensely in the “platonic” love of a departed spirit? This both troubled and intrigued me.

 

The ways in which we can love others is infinite – even within very finite parameters! There’s obviously something very provoking about the passage of time on earth when we know that it will run out very shortly. What is important comes to the forefront with urgency; there is no avoiding the inevitable.

 

I think a lot of people retreat in these circumstances because the thought of losing a loved one is more than they can bear, understandably. For myself, over the years, I’ve developed a philosophy that acknowledges the temporary nature of life as we know it. This is not an emotionless reaction to life, only an awareness that everything comes and goes: love and loss, joy and sadness. While I believe that this life is temporary, I’m also of the belief that love is eternal, so that a death for me is not an end but a transition.

 

And not to leave out the animal kingdom, when my cat Clara died, I was by her side and I can’t tell you the sorrow I felt, but also the joy in knowing that even one of God’s tiniest creatures had inspired so much love and caring on my part that I knew there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Stroking her head as she took her last gasp was the greatest gift for me, because I was able to be there for her and escort her through to the other side. I can’t think of a greater act of love one can do for another being.

 

And now, as I prepare to say good-bye to another treasured soul, I am in awe of the love that comes through me towards this person who was not an easy relationship for me in life. Funny, how in death, we can overcome limits we never thought possible because we are given the opportunity of sharing the sacred experience of transition. In this case, for me, all of the sudden what came before has shifted into another place and no longer triggers my emotions as before. I see this as a gift because it has allowed me to rise above the more mundane aspects of daily trials and tribulations and look beyond into what I see as basically the unknown. We are all on a similar voyage of trying to figure out who we are and where we are going. Back in childhood, when there were no barriers, I think we understood this unconsciously, and now later on, in times of despair, I see the possibility of rediscovering our innocence about existence and moving towards the mystery together with those we cherish.  Isn’t this both a blessing and a gift?

 

I’ve never been good at good-byes, but the knowledge that love survives gives me great comfort and solace as well a certain fearlessness about facing the unknown with an open heart and a spirit filled with hope and light.