Celebrating Life Means to Accept Death
I learn a lot from conversations. Talking with my students about their lives and listening as they talk about their viewpoints challenges my own. Little snippets of deep conversations with various people in my life have sent me down interesting paths. Dialogue is the best teacher. Yet dialogue is sorely lacking as of late it seems like. The art of conversation has been lost and I hope it comes back.
As a kid I was always comfortable talking with grown ups. I participated in political conversations when I was eight years old, hearing the various view points of my family members and taking it in. Some things I really did not understand, but I knew it mattered to everyone and I also knew that all of my relatives wanted what was best for the world just differed on some details. I also spent some lunches with my resource teacher talking about various topics when my classmates bored me. But the real reason for this post is a man that I had many deep conversations with, his name was Ben, and he was my neighbor when I lived in Terra Linda. Ben was an older gentleman who served in the Philippines. Incredible outdoorsman and storyteller who had traveled the world extensively. I thought he was interesting to talk to, but my neighborhood friends did not. He taught me how to fish and I assisted him with various building projects. Even trusted me with a hammer despite my lack of coordination. I was a pre-teen when this particular conversation happened and it was shortly before he died. I suppose he had it on his mind. But this advice helped me with losing my Grandfather my freshman year and then my Aunt Joan as well as my Grandma Walters. It also helped me accept the death of my puppy, Rudy, he drowned in the lagoon in our neighborhood after escaping. Most likely chasing ducks.
Anyway, I was explaining that I was sad about Rudy. Ben asked me a question that confused me. "Why?" I explained to him that he was my puppy, I loved him, and he was gone. I can't play with him anymore. He then asked if Rudy made me happy when he was alive. I told him of course he was a good puppy. So he told me that Rudy did his job. He lived his life as a puppy to the best of his ability and he changed you. I thought about it for a second then nodded my head. I asked him if I changed Rudy. He told me that I definitely did. Then he told me that when he died he hoped that his kids would feel the same way and take the memories they had of him to live a happy life. Not to dwell on the loss. That sometimes things happen that seem to have no meaning, but there always is, and it is through death that we learn to appreciate life. We live one life. The connections we make are important, but always celebrate the life and recognize that the ache you feel is actually love. Love is a verb, so when you love someone and it feels like you cannot do something to show it... it hurts. But there is always something you can do. You can remember and continue to live the best life you can.
Now. A lot of what he said confused me. I thought he was a bit mad. But I liked what he said. The heartache is love without an ability to act, but then I remember and I do something that would make the person I lost happy. Loss is a part of life and it reminds us to live. For ourselves and for the people or gentle creatures we meet along the way.
As a kid I was always comfortable talking with grown ups. I participated in political conversations when I was eight years old, hearing the various view points of my family members and taking it in. Some things I really did not understand, but I knew it mattered to everyone and I also knew that all of my relatives wanted what was best for the world just differed on some details. I also spent some lunches with my resource teacher talking about various topics when my classmates bored me. But the real reason for this post is a man that I had many deep conversations with, his name was Ben, and he was my neighbor when I lived in Terra Linda. Ben was an older gentleman who served in the Philippines. Incredible outdoorsman and storyteller who had traveled the world extensively. I thought he was interesting to talk to, but my neighborhood friends did not. He taught me how to fish and I assisted him with various building projects. Even trusted me with a hammer despite my lack of coordination. I was a pre-teen when this particular conversation happened and it was shortly before he died. I suppose he had it on his mind. But this advice helped me with losing my Grandfather my freshman year and then my Aunt Joan as well as my Grandma Walters. It also helped me accept the death of my puppy, Rudy, he drowned in the lagoon in our neighborhood after escaping. Most likely chasing ducks.
Anyway, I was explaining that I was sad about Rudy. Ben asked me a question that confused me. "Why?" I explained to him that he was my puppy, I loved him, and he was gone. I can't play with him anymore. He then asked if Rudy made me happy when he was alive. I told him of course he was a good puppy. So he told me that Rudy did his job. He lived his life as a puppy to the best of his ability and he changed you. I thought about it for a second then nodded my head. I asked him if I changed Rudy. He told me that I definitely did. Then he told me that when he died he hoped that his kids would feel the same way and take the memories they had of him to live a happy life. Not to dwell on the loss. That sometimes things happen that seem to have no meaning, but there always is, and it is through death that we learn to appreciate life. We live one life. The connections we make are important, but always celebrate the life and recognize that the ache you feel is actually love. Love is a verb, so when you love someone and it feels like you cannot do something to show it... it hurts. But there is always something you can do. You can remember and continue to live the best life you can.
Now. A lot of what he said confused me. I thought he was a bit mad. But I liked what he said. The heartache is love without an ability to act, but then I remember and I do something that would make the person I lost happy. Loss is a part of life and it reminds us to live. For ourselves and for the people or gentle creatures we meet along the way.
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