No one, in any culture, likes to talk about death, let alone the fact that it’s an inescapable reality for all of us. In the west, there’s an obsession with youth, vitality and beauty – the idea of growing old is alien; death is treated almost as though it were a myth or, at best, something that happens to other people.
Recently, I received sad news from a close friend to say that his mother had died suddenly in her sleep. Having experienced the grief of a parent’s death myself, I expected words of comfort and consolation to come easily, but I was at a loss. Sometimes life is too big for words.
One of the stock phrases I avoided using was, “I’m sorry for your loss.” It feels clichéd – even though we are sincere in the sentiment, it can have a hollow quality to it. I suppose it’s all part of not knowing exactly what to say in such dreadful situations. No matter how meaningful the words, they always seem to fall short.
When my mother died from a short illness in 2010, I began to think more about loss and what it actually means to lose someone who has been so close to you throughout your life. The experience – as many will know – brings all sorts of things to the table, but the most potent is the realness of loss, to know that it doesn’t just happen to other people.
In reflecting on my friend’s loss and revisiting my own, I recalled the sentiment that helped me to put the loss of a loved one into perspective – although we may physically lose someone, we have gained so much more through their presence in our lives. In many ways, those who are closest to us help to shape who we are: they teach us about the world, introduce us to ideas, and walk with us through life’s ups and downs.
I’m all but certain that, if it weren’t for my mother, I wouldn’t have developed such a keen interest in exploring ideas and although we shared different views on a number of subjects, her encouragement of exploration and her habit of asking me questions from a young age (“Are you sure? What if… ”) turned out to be hugely influential in how I would go on to develop.
Of course, that’s just one example from a whole lifetime’s worth of influence. Like the rest of us my mother had her faults, but there is so much of her example that lives on through how I live my life, and so much that she gave that enabled me to enjoy the fortune of a relatively comfortable life that allowed me to explore and experience all that I have done.
When we lose someone, our devastation leads us to fixate upon the physical loss. To be able to call someone on the phone, have dinner with them, or spend time relaxing in their company is a time-limited luxury. We realise this only when it’s too late and, when it is too late, the reality is indescribable. Acknowledging that, one day, we’ll hug our loved ones for the last time is a terrifying thought – it’s no wonder we do all we can to avoid accepting the inevitable fate.
But perhaps in allowing ourselves at least some time to reflect on the fate we all share, we can begin to develop a real appreciation for life and for those who help shape who we are. We often hear people say, “If only I had one more day… I could tell them how much they meant to me.” Sadly, we don’t get an extra day with those who have passed on, but their passing does teach us one final lesson: nothing is more important than family and friends and those who influence us.
In losing someone close to us, nothing can heal the short-term pain; and for some, the pain prolongs indefinitely. There is no set formula or time limit when it comes to dealing with grief or for how long it will last; each story is unique and it’s impossible to judge another person’s grief by our own standards.
But if in the midst of our pain we can find a space for reflecting on what our loved ones have given us, taught us and shared with us; if we can somehow dwell for a time in the recognition that we were fortunate to know them for the time given to us, we might begin to feel a deep sense of love and gratitude blossoming through the thorns of our grief as we think of all the memorable moments we were able to share together.
Reflecting in this way doesn’t lessen the pain, nor does it diminish the grief. What it does is helps us to realise that we never truly lose our loved ones; they remain with us in everything we do and we in turn pass on part of their light in our own example to others. In the end, despite the pain of our physical loss, we might come to find some comfort as our goodbye becomes a grateful thank you for their love and indelible presence in our hearts.
Sandy Clarke has been a keen practitioner of meditation and contemplation for the past 16 years, and believes that the better we understand ourselves and our emotions, the more likely we are to cultivate a positive outlook and sense of contentment.
