Category: Death

Today, I attended Jayh’s funeral.

These were the things the people closest to him chose to highlight as they spoke about him and his life:

• His humor. They loved his wit, his sarcasm, and his sense of humor. He knew how to make people laugh and he did it often.

• He made people feel safe. And when you grow up in a rough neighborhood, this is one of the highest feelings a person can give another. Even one of the speakers who was at least 2x or maybe even 3x Jayh’s size said it. Jayh was a protector. Jayh was fiercely loyal. And Jayh would do anything for the people he loved. And he had a big heart, described by many as a heart of gold, that touched the lives of so many.

• He brought people together. He was the type of person to show up at your house and hang on the porch with you for hours on end. He was the type of person who would call to check in, crack a joke, set up a meet, talk crap, or talk life—real life. He would get people together to play football, basketball, music… and so many people talked about how hard it was going to be without him. They called him the general of the block because he was always leading everybody else towards each other. He was the center. He was the catalyst.

I share this in hopes that, even though you might not know Jayh, parts of him can continue to live through you.

Because whenever we chose to embody actions inspired by another, they get to continue to live through us.

A childhood friend of mine died of heart failure this past weekend—at 37 years old.

He was one of the most athletic kids I knew when I was growing up and was the living embodiment of tough. He didn’t take crap from anybody and could burn a hole through you with a single glance… and yet, he had one of the most contagious laughs you might ever hear. He was a leader and wasn’t afraid to express his full life force—in conversation, in football, in music… in any endeavor.

May the best of who he was carry on through those who knew him and may this message of mortality ripple its way to you with some urgency for living… for you to get busy expressing your full life force.

…Because tomorrow is promised to no one.

“There’s something sobering about moments when mortality decides to pull up a chair and join you for a chat. It doesn’t matter who you are, how much kale you’ve eaten, or whether you can still squeeze into your high school jeans on your 60th birthday. (Spoiler Alert: I cannot). Mortality reminds us that we’re all just passing through, and none of us gets to skip the check-out line. Death doesn’t discriminate. But here’s the twist: Mortality isn’t here to ruin the party. It’s here to remind us to live.” ~ Craig Misewicz

When mortality pulls up a chair… join in for the chat.

In our society, there’s too much walking away, hiding from, and shoving our heads in the sand.

Death gets hidden in hospital rooms and long-term care facilities. It gets sanitized by medical professionals and dressed up by funeral homes. It gets outsourced to a few so that the rest can live without being reminded…

But, being reminded is precisely the point.

Death doesn’t discriminate and none of us get to skip the check-out line.

And if we pretend like it does and we might… we’re in for an abrupt awakening.

Because at some point, we won’t be able to walk away, hide from, or shove our head in the sand any longer. We’re going to be forced to have that chat. And when we do… when we finally wake up… there might not be much time left.

See having that chat doesn’t take away from life—it adds to it.

…It reminds us of our priorities and of what really matters. It gives us the push we might need to do those things. It reminds us… to live.

I found myself doing a deathbed meditation today.

Imagining what my regrets would be if I knew my life was coming to an end tonight…

And let me tell you… it brought up some pretty powerful visions and wishes.

I encourage you to spend some time doing the same. Take it seriously. See what comes up.

The upcoming new year is like a rebirth… as was the last new year… and the one before that.

Heck, each day is a rebirth or sorts, isn’t it?

Why spend time imagining something as morbid as laying on your deathbed for an extended period of time, you ask?

…Because the deeper you feel what it’s like to actually be on that deathbed, the more likely you’ll be to actually take these upcoming rebirths seriously.

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P.s. Some fun updates on MoveMe Quotes as of today: (1) You can now click to get random quotes, picture quotes, and articles—perfect for spontaneous visits (in the header menu). (2) You can search within categories now (finally!)(e.g. Instead of searching “love quotes” and pulling up everything we’ve ever tagged with it, you can now search “love quotes” within the Picture Quotes category…!)(Can be found in the directory). (3) You can change the language of the entire website with a single click. Language options can be found in the header menu. Hope these updates help! Enjoy!

A buddy of mine messed his ankle up today while sparring.

Shortly after that, I found out my grandmother fell on the weekend and got a pelvic fracture with some displacement.

And before both of these events, one of my employees told me she was going to have to take her great aunt off life support today.

Reminders like this—which is exactly how I try to receive them—should be given space where their true weight can be felt.

…Because what they could serve so powerfully as are reminders of our impermanence… of life’s temporary nature… of our vulnerability.

…Of precisely what makes this life so very precious in the first place.

When you come across an injury in your life—remember to give thanks to what’s uninjured.

When you come across a serious injury—remember to give not just that person a more serious space where they can feel the full weight of your support… but to give the same to yourself… maybe not to feel support, but to feel gratitude for what’s seriously still going right.

When you come across death—don’t hide from it. Don’t just leave others to deal with it. Don’t suppress your feelings about it. Let it give rise to that potent feeling of delicacy… that terrifying feeling of the ticking clock… the thoughts of consciousness fading to black.

And let it serve as just as potent of a reminder… to live.

My great aunt Mary passed away a few weeks ago.

And the other day, a friend and I helped move furniture around and out of her stripped down apartment.

It was weird to see how, within a matter of a few short weeks, everything she owned was either given away, sold, or trashed.

Everything.

From her apartment and car to her furniture and TVs to her clothes and jewelry.

It was a reminder for me that we don’t really own anything in this life.

Everything is merely being borrowed—even the things we pay for in full.

And when it’s all said and done, what gets remembered and tallied isn’t the physical objects or dollar signs we leave behind… but, as my aunt so eloquently said at her funeral, it’s “Loving well that’s the best legacy of them all.”

Today, let’s remember to love well.

Today a student of mine came to the school with watery eyes and a quivering lip.

He stood in my office for a few moments gathering himself before he told me that a 6 year old girl died after being hit by a car as she was crossing the street. He said that she crossed from behind a parked car and couldn’t have been seen until it was too late… And that he saw the aftermath of it all as it was just down the street from his home.

I simply can’t fathom what must be going on in the minds of the family, friends, and driver.

…Is this our fault? Should we have taught her to cross the street more safely?!

…If only I had been driving slower and more cautiously.

…Why did this have to happen?!?!?

It’s absolutely devastating all around.

And the reason for passing this devastation forward is to offer you the opportunity that the people mentioned above would do anything to have… the opportunity to have that careful conversation with your kids/loved ones… to drive more slowly and cautiously (and to never forget the potential cost of rushing)… to hug your little ones/ big ones a little extra tight while they’re still here…

Life is so damn fragile, y’all.