Category: Death

…It’s an event where people come together and celebrate—in a way most appropriate for the person—a life lived.

We celebrate this life because it’s a miracle it ever even happened—against odds in the trillions to one ballpark (that’s trillions with a “t”). We celebrate this life because of the impact it had on ours—one that helped shape our character and identity as we know it, in both the biggest and tiniest of ways. We celebrate this life because of the impact it had on others—an impact which likely rippled further out into the world than they or we could ever truly know.

And yes, we mourn the loss because the above has come to an end.

…But, does it though?

What if the celebration of life event is an exercise in keeping the person’s impact alive?

What if we could carry the best of that person’s legacy with us and continue to ripple it forward into the lives of others?

What if the person we lost was a byproduct of hundreds of thousands of people’s legacies who came before… all totaling up to the person we loved so dearly?

And what if by celebrating them not only at the event, but regularly, you’re helping total up the character and identity of those around into something millions of others will eventually come to appreciate and love so dearly?

Dear busy person,

A colleague and friend of mine just found out he has 6 months to 2 years to live.

This news could’ve just as easily been given to you.

…It could actually be beneficial for you to imagine it was.

Close your eyes. Visualize yourself in a doctor’s office after getting tests done the previous week. Today is results day. The doctor comes in and gets right to the point—no small talk. The above is the situation. And it’s said plainly and as a matter of fact. He says he’s sorry and walks out.

…What exactly were you so busy doing again?

…What was it that you were complaining about again?

…What important thing(s) did you say you were going to wait until later to do again?

The thought of death gives us the urgency to really live—whatever that means to you.

But when we bury death as an abstract, foreign concept into the deep, dark corners of our mind—we lose that urgency, don’t we?

Maybe it’s time we resurface it. Maybe it’s time we think about it again. Maybe today is a good day to imagine we only have 6 months left to live.

…Now what?

“You should take him on a vacation… so that he can best enjoy the time he has left.”

“…Why? So we can forget and drink beers on the beach? …No. No. I’m not doing that. I’m not letting him give up. I’m not giving up. I’ll take him for a walk by the water… so we can talk. I think that’s what he needs most—what he wants most right now. I’ll even help him change is lifestyle so that all the crap gets cut. But quitting isn’t what I want on either of our minds.”

—After hearing a mutual friend’s cancer metastasized and there was nothing more the doctors could do.

This weekend I’m participating in a 15+ hour martial arts training camp honoring the legacy of the late, great Professor Remy Amador Presas.

And in the martial arts world, this is how you honor another martial artist’s legacy: by training… by resurfacing their teachings… by sharing the art they helped create with the next generations…

…By actively bringing back to life the “fruits” of their life’s work.

And for those of you out there who have lost someone… maybe use this as a means of mediation: what was the “fruit” of that person’s life? And how can you actively care for those fruits so as to keep them alive? Who might you share these fruits with?

We practice death every day.

Every time something comes to an end we’re given a chance.

A song. A dance. A day.

We can practice kicking and screaming or ignoring and suppressing or distracting and distancing…

Or we can accept that what made it so beautiful was that it ended after all. And we can cherish… savor… appreciate…

…And try to more fully receive all that’s packed inside the moments that come next.

…In those moments where we so fortunately get to practice again. And again. And again.

…All the way until The End.

I found out yesterday my 90-something year old neighbor passed away a couple weeks ago.

It was apparently of natural causes and while she was asleep.

And while I was just writing about how Lisa Lux was devoting all of her energy towards healing and squeezing every drop of presence out of life with what little time she had left… my 90-something year old neighbor apparently was frequently wondering what was taking so long.

Her husband had apparently passed away in the late 1970s and she eventually got to a point where she would ask her daughter… why do you think I’ve lived as long as I have? Why me? Why not my husband? Why not my grandchild—who died in his 20s? Why not somebody else?

And the truth is: we’ll never know.

What makes this life so very special is that we’ll never know.

And it’s the knowing this… the keeping death close in our minds… and not the opposite… that turns time into memories… energy into experiences… life into legacy…

Yesterday, as I was reflecting on the loss of my friend Lisa Lux, as I meditated closely on the thin line that separates life and death—me from death; her from life; and each of us from the opposite—and carefully allowed myself to enter that empathetic space of feeling what she might’ve felt and what I was surely feeling… I got abruptly interrupted three times.

…And each was by a different co-worker to talk to me about plastic gold coins.

See there was an event we were hosting at our martial arts school where the students could play arcade-style martial arts games to win plastic gold coins that they could turn in for prizes. And we didn’t have enough gold coins for the night. So my co-workers and I were scrambling to find solutions. Long story short, we were checking out and calling every local place that might sell them and keeping each other updated so we didn’t overlap efforts.

In no way was I upset about this.

But I did find it to be such a powerful analogy for the ways in which death hides behind life.

There I was… there we were (all of my co-workers knew Lisa Lux as well)… mourning the loss of our friend… except we weren’t able to because we kept getting ripped back to the urgent reality—the one where death ceases to exist—by one of the most trivial, insignificant, worthless of items here on this earth… plastic gold coins.

And if plastic gold coins can keep us from thinking about our mortality and death… just think about what even slightly more “important,” “significant,” and “worthy” things can do…