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It is an evil day when you must choose between life and death, and the lesser of the two evils is death.
There was once a time when I believed that death was, in some instances, a good thing. I believed that it was a release, a letting-go, rest for the weary.
I retract that belief.
Grandparents, aunts & uncles, friends and co-workers – all lost over these many years. Death has taught me one thing: they never come back.
Sure, there are moments when I feel my beloved Nanny near my side, and every now and again I sense my father-in-law standing near his grandson, watching proudly. But they aren’t here. They are elsewhere. They are gone.
Death has never been more present than in the last eighteen months:
Thomas, only 35 years old, died in his sleep of heart failure. No one had as big a heart as Thomas, and yet, it failed.
Shan, musician extraordinaire, had a sudden pain in her chest and died days later.
Connor fought leukemia and other aggressive cancers for 10 years. He received two bone marrow transplants from his sister, hoping beyond hope that the family could buy a few more years. He died two months ago at age 14.
Our sweet Marley dog, best dog in the whole world, had degenerative disc disease. She woke up one morning paralyzed. The paralysis spread. We held her paw as the vet gave her the injection that stopped her heart.
And now, Zach, young – much too young, had a seizure at a restaurant and stopped breathing. No one knew CPR. By the time the parametics revived him, he had been without oxygen longer than he should have been. After two weeks in ICU on a ventilator, his mother signed the release to let him go. He died yesterday, Mothers Day, with his family surrounding him.
Ray….Michael….Jay….Linda….Grandma….Annette….Nanny….all gone.
How can we be expected to carry such loss throughout our lives? The weight of it alone drives us into the ground.
I realize that as a woman of faith, I should be strong enough to carry this weight. My faith should be the source of my strength in times of trouble, hope in the face of darkness.
On my good days, this is true. Lately, I do not have many good days.
Even so, in my pissed-off-at-God, where-the-hell-are-you-anyway moments, I hold on to one thing: Emmanuel – God with us. It’s the only thing that makes sense when everything falls apart. Presence is all we are promised. Not everyone is delivered from harm. Not everyone is healed the way we want. Not everyone gets a second chance. Presence is all we have.
Knowing this can happen to anyone I love, at any time is enough to make me dig my own hole – or – hold on tighter to something that will one day disappear. I don’t know which is better – removing myself from the pain before it happens or getting in so deep that when the deluge comes I drown.
I’m afraid that in my case, there is no safe place in between. Either I become a recluse or a very poor swimmer. I cannot love halfway. I cannot give my heart away just enough to make life meaningful but not enough to break apart when my people die.
And so I scream at this presence – this Emmanuel – because it’s not fair, not fair, NOT FAIR. Love is too hard a thing asked of us, knowing that someday we will end. It is cruel and thoughtless. Death is the worst of all evils because it the only evil that puts an end to us.
And I hear the whisper back that I am not over yet, I have not ended thus far. And yes, some things – one thing – is eternal.
Even when we end, especially when we end, love never does. I must tell myself this over and over – some days with every breath – love is the only thing that lasts, in this world and beyond. Presence means love. Presence means belonging. Presence means we are always here.
Emmanuel. God with us.
Wishing they were with us, too.
Love is never, ever wasted. Love never dies. Death cannot kill Love it can only make us lock out hearts up so hard that we never feel, never remember. And that is when Death wins.
Do you know how I know? You. Mom. Watson. Watching Fred and Ellen and the way he calls her “M’luv” and knowing he will soon be leaving her. Think back to being very young and loving someone. That love is still there, alive and real. You may have moved past that person, you may not love them that way anymore but the love remains. Even when the pain of loving is so strong it threatens to tear us away in the rip tide of loss, it is still and always Love.
I think the pain rips holes in our hearts to make them bigger and the scars make us stronger so we can continue to love. Otherwise, I would have to give up and quit loving.