I spent a good part of the morning thinking it was Thursday. Fortunately I figured out it was Wednesday and got my recycling and trash to the curb. (Yes, the trash service is picking up recycling again, thank goodness. I was about to drown in cardboard.)
Happy Friday. Let’s talk about death. (You can scroll down to the funniness if you’d rather not.)
Last night I found out that someone with whom I’d had a relationship many years ago passed away from COVID earlier this month. (Diagram that last sentence for extra credit.) I hadn’t had any contact with this person for almost thirty years and had no desire to have any contact with them ever again. I held no animosity toward them, but I also had no reason to stay in touch. Goodbye, have a nice life, and all that. But learning of their passing created all kinds of feelings that still linger. Some of it was sadness, but it was more than that.
Someone I spoke to compared it to running into someone you haven’t seen in years and being surprised against all reason that they’ve aged. It’s a bit like that, only at a higher order of magnitude. This person that you’ve encased in amber since you were both about 30 is gone at age 60, which is a) much too soon, and b) your age too, in case you forgot. You read their obituary and get the Reader’s Digest version of their life. You remember some of the things you knew about them and find out what they had been doing since you knew them. You recall the good times the two of you had and of course the things that led to the end of the relationship. You remind yourself that you had no desire to see them again, and you realize that now you won’t, at least in this lifetime. You read the tributes their friends post and realize that they’re talking about someone that you don’t know. That person stopped existing when you split up, as did the person you were then. You think about their family members, some of whom you knew, and hope that they’re coping as best they can. You feel a loss for that person and also for a time in your life that’s over.
Then you get up the next morning and find out that Meat Loaf passed away.
You realize that you need to get grounded. Fortunately, Thay, as he was called, can help with that.
Thich Nhat Hanh dismissed the idea of death. “Birth and death are only notions,” he wrote in his book “No Death, No Fear.” “They are not real.”
He added: “The Buddha taught that there is no birth; there is no death; there is no coming; there is no going; there is no same; there is no different; there is no permanent self; there is no annihilation. We only think there is.”
That understanding, he wrote, can liberate people from fear and allow them to “enjoy life and appreciate it in a new way.”
The problem with becoming defensive is that our internal narrative gets in the way of expressing what’s actually going on. Because we’re imagining all the blame and shame and scorn that the other person may or may not be feeling toward us, we bring those feelings into our words and actions, and end up making a mess.
And the problem with being offensive is that the person we’re offending can no longer hear what we’re saying.
Communication lives between the two. We do best when we can describe the actual, the same way we might talk about the weather. Here is what is. Simply that.