On Mortality

This is (really late) Essay #48 of The 52 Essay Challenge, a series in which I write a new (unpolished & messy) essay each week during 2017.

I’m thinking about mortality.

What would you do if you knew exactly when you would leave this earth, this body? How would you live our your remaining days?

This is not a new question. In fact, it’s been asked so much that it’s become a cliché to even ask it! But I don’t know if I’ve asked this question of myself and really pondered on the answers. Sure, I’ve asked the question. I’ve told myself and others that we are never promised tomorrow. And the question is usually raised when someone in my life dies. Or, right now, when someone in my life is diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer.

Stage 3. That’s one stage lower than Stage 4, the final stage where nothing really can be done. So, it’s not a death countdown but it’s also not Stage 1 (early stages).

I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it. What does that mean? What’s the survival rate? Should I be freaking out that she might, indeed, die? I mean, yes, we all are going to die, but I don’t know how to respond to this information. I can’t tell what level of “oh shit” this is. My friend, M, is really holding it together on the outside. Casual and nonchalant. Really frank about discussing her treatment and saying things like “we’re going to kick cancer’s ass”. Talking facts rather than feelings. I wonder what’s going on deep within. I hope that she’s talking about it with other people: her husband, a therapist, somebody. Because we all know that tamping down emotions just makes them stronger, and, sometimes, toxic. You can’t just will yourself to be strong and not allow for grief and heartache to come into play, too. The sadness and anger will only grow and perhaps hinder the strength.

When she first told me about her diagnosis, she expressed some anger. Why is this happening to me? I eat organic. I take care of myself. But the way she said it – it sounded like she was really working hard at holding it together, working hard at not breaking down. I get it. I’d probably be the same way. But how useful is that? To deny ourselves to feel the things we need to feel?

I understand that everyone has their own way of dealing with feelings, with expressing them. I just hope that she is able to process all of this with help, in the way is best for her. It’s just that holding it together, tamping it down, perhaps even denying feelings – that’s not the best way for anybody.

*

In facing one’s mortality head on, we tend to deny it. We refuse help. We insist on self-reliance. Look at my in-laws who are well advanced in age and need all sorts of help, help that might be best found in an assisted living situation. (I’ve already discussed this a little bit here.) Our pride gets in our way. As does our denial of death. We are very attached to things, to our status quo. Change is inevitable, as is death. So why not embrace rather than resist them both?

And what does it feel like to know more concretely that you are closer to death than most people? How would you move through your life? What would change?

These are questions I am contemplating.

How would I live my life differently? Would I live my life differently?

I’ve been trying to live my life in the present moment, trying to thrive and live like I will die tomorrow. Trying is the operative word. It’s not easy. Old habits die hard. But I am making an effort. I am seeking out and trying to create as much joy in my life, as much play.

The year is coming to a close. With the new year on the horizon, many of us use this as an opportunity to create a fresh start, a clean slate. It always feels so good to do that. But often, these “do better” lists don’t get to the heart of thriving in this life we’ve been given. “Lose 10 lbs” is a good old standby. What does that even mean? That you are unhappy with your body? Love your body and be grateful for all that it does for you. Treat it well, like the holy temple it is. Nourish it with goodness and you’ll feel physically better. If you focus on the weight loss, you’re not creating joy – you’re creating suffering. Because you’ve got this idea that your body isn’t good enough as it is. You got a little extra cushion? Love it and then tell yourself that maybe the extra cushion has served its purpose and now you are working on letting it go because it no longer serves you. Doesn’t that sound more inviting? Like maybe there’s potential for love and joy in that?

When it comes to living the lives we want, many people say Oh, I’ll do that next year. Or, I have to wait until all my ducks are in a row. Or, Just as soon as I do XYZ first. I am one of those people. Or, at least I used to be. Now, I’ve been working on going after the things I want in this moment. And when I say “the things I want” I don’t mean material things (though, to be honest, I do want the Gravity blanket. Have you seen this thing?? So amazing! Though, not cheap.) I’m talking about seizing the day. Do we have to wait until we receive our death notices in order to thrive in the life we’ve been given? Or will we go out each day and do the thing that brings us joy, the things that scares the shit out of us, the thing that pushes us to our edge to that we can grow to the most excellent versions of ourselves? I don’t know about you, but that’s how I want to live: awake and alive exploding with joy. (yeah, yeah, the darkness can come too. Hahaha!)

On that note, I have this dilemma: I want to go on this spiritual study retreat to India in February with my teacher. There’s a whole group going from my home studio. To visit the childhood home of Krishna? To physically be in the sacred space and energy of Vrindavan? Man, that would be something else. The dilemma? Financing the trip. Yes, seize the day. But how to balance that with a certain level of responsibility? If I were dying, would I say, “fuck it and rack up that debt”? I can’t say.

Which brings me to m original question: what would I do differently if I knew when I would leave this earth? Maybe I’d go to India on my already-maxed-out card. Maybe I’d open a new card (if they let me – haha) and take my whole family to the Philippines and to Italy because my kids want to see where their grandparents are from. Maybe I’d get that Gravity blanket. Maybe I’d try skydiving. Maybe. I don’t know – I’m terrified of heights. But if I’m going to die anyway, why the hell not?

I’d definitely tell everyone I loved them every freaking minute of the day (which I kinda already do). I’d take more bubble baths. Take even more naps (because naps are awesome! And hello, Gravity blanket! Naps will be even more awesome!). I’d get some massages because I don’t get enough of that kind of magic. I’d try to create as much magic as possible in my life and everyone around me. And play. Always play.

Carpe diem, my friends. Because you don’t know when you last breath will come.