Transformational Suffering; Saved from the Calmness

In the calm of ordinary life, we often feel indestructible and empowered by accomplishments. Our identity is wrapped up in the role of human-doings rather than human-beings.

But now calmness has been taken away as the novel coronavirus disease (COVID-19) transforms who we are.

As we confront our vulnerability, stripped of our masks and hiding places, we might just awaken as a new creation.

What seems to be destroying us could be saving us.

An old friend from my hometown posed a series of questions on his FaceBook page which are on the minds of many of us. He and his wife had a long conversation about what our country might be like when this virus subsides and life outside our homes begins anew. 

"Will small businesses be willing to risk a lot of debt to restart?  How many restaurants will close permanently?  How high will our taxes have to go up to recover part of what governments are having to spend now?  Will social distancing be the new norm in all public venues?  How will the health care industry prepare for the next pandemic, because there will be a next one. And, that preparedness is going to cost us all a pretty penny. So many what-ifs."

There are no answers to his questions of course. Only speculation. Our increased awareness after having faced physical/social isolation, fear, and powerlessness, will have a lasting effect on how we navigate life. It is doubtful that our notions of self-reliance, pulling up by the bootstraps, and sheer positive determination will remain our long suit. Sadly though, the what-ifs could be replaced by if-onlys on the other side unless we are transformed by these experiences. 

We have been offered an unexpected gift during these days, weeks and months of confinement and loss. We will have an opportunity to realign and rotate our set of tires. With more time taken for silence, prayer, and meditation, important questions will surface which transcend those posed regarding what will become of us. 

Longing to be close to one another, we ask whether loved ones know how much they are treasured and whether we show it nearly enough. Harboring old grudges, we ask whether we have forgiven or asked forgiveness. Carelessly swerving through our days we wonder if it is possible to slow down, savor, and be more grateful. I wonder if we could take ourselves off of auto-pilot?

New and better people will show up when traveling the world with these new tires we have been given. Calm will return after this storm. Personal growth mixed with a deeper appreciation for what is most important will lead our transformed selves to be more accepting and less judgmental. Our suffering will have led us to a new freedom and new understanding. It is that which will bring us to the fullness of life for which we have always searched. 

So, even as I find myself longing to be close to you, my aching heart anticipates all of the wonderful days to come when we will be reunited in a wonderfully transformed and unfettered love.

Leaving an Epitaph; Time For Every Purpose

It seems like I am asked more and more often lately to provide comforting words about death and grief. Perhaps that comes as a byproduct of hanging around for seven decades. Here is something I now know. To every thing there is a season and a purpose under heaven. So says scripture and the once popular folk song titled 'Turn! Turn! Turn!' I guess there is some comfort to that. Good things and bad things come and go. But it's important to understand that there are at least some things over which we have a modicum of control. Among them is how we deal with each other in the present moment and another is our unique ability to leave behind some meaningful words to mark our passing through.

My experiences of death are wide and varied. I have learned that grief's partner, regret, is every bit as painful as loss itself. The night before my brother took his life, he made a phone call to me. There were folks having dinner with us, and I was impatient with our short conversation. He seemed very chipper with no real purpose to the call, so I told him about our visitors and said we would talk another time. Jack and I had disagreed on a trivial matter a few weeks before and I was still miffed. If only I had listened.

The sting of death and depth of loss won't be diminished right away just because the regret of 'if onlys' is minimalized. But if we have done the best we could do under the circumstances, never left one another with anger in the oven, forgiven mistakes, and cast off misunderstandings at the side of the road, we will be able to find our way to acceptance.

George Bernard Shaw is known for the epitaph he created which quips "I knew if I stayed around long enough, something like this would happen.” Then there was Mickey Mantle who left his with us saying “If I knew I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself.” When we are young grief is something we push aside as best we can. Rarely, if ever, do we entertain the idea of writing a personal epitaph. I've lived long enough to grasp that denial only works until it doesn't, and creating an epitaph is a pretty good way of thinking about how you would like to be remembered. It can be an impetus for change allowing us to consider what is really important and what might be missing.

Writing an epitaph lets the better version of yourself shine through to make a little difference in the lives of others.  It allows you to reflect on not only how you would like to be remembered but even how to set a new course with a good compass in hand. Since there is no such thing as an inconsequential life, why not deposit a few words of wisdom and wit. Here is the one I'm working on.

"I always tried to leave people laughing, smiling, or glad. Sometimes without success. So this is my amends; A priest, rabbi, parrot and elephant walk into a bar..."

No silliness is intended in my epitaph. Well maybe just a little. But what it does is steer me to the sunnier side of the street. And just maybe someone will remember the last line and finish it with a great joke. Now wouldn’t that be a fine legacy.