Paradise Lost

Why do we say when someone dies that we have "lost" them? "Losing someone" almost sounds as if we set them in the outer pocket of a backpack or on the roof of the car and then went along our merry way only to discover later that the person is no longer where we left him or her. The expression seems to make us irresponsible somehow, as if the fault is ours.

Dad died in February 2010. Mom died five years and a week before Dad, in February, 2005. I am pretty sure that I did not lose them. I knew right where they were in each case. They were at home. Mom died on the couch in the TV room while Dad pleaded with her not to go. Dad died sitting at the base of the staircase near the front door, as if he were waiting for someone. They were not lost.

Did I have the same reaction to their deaths as I would have when I lose something dear or important? Not at all. When I lose something, I try to retrace my last steps and to look in all the logical places where the item should be. I expect to find the object. I often get frustrated with myself for not being more mindful of my actions. Sometimes I laugh at myself when I find the thing where it shouldn't have been, or where it was right in front of my eyes each time I looked. If I really can't find the object, I have to move on, knowing that I will either get another one or simply do without.

That is not the feeling I had when Mom died quickly and unexpectedly. That is not the feeling I had when Dad died slowly and anticipated. No, I did not lose my parents. I also would not say that they "left me" (which sounds like they abandoned me on purpose) or "passed away" (as if they were boats that were left untied and which drifted out to sea).

Mom died. Dad died. That stark reality actually gives me comfort. I am now beginning to understand that life happens. It is as it should be. That is not to say that life is always what we want or hope. It is as it should be. There is a recurring flow of the seasons, the tides, and to our lives. We should not be amazed or shocked or saddened because death occurs. We may grieve because we no longer enjoy the company of the people we love, but we cannot believe it would not come. As surely as the autumn leaves change color and the hummingbirds fly south, so too will the people in our lives follow their own patterns. They are not lost; nor will we be.

It's Not the Things

It's not the things that I love
of the things that I love;
Rather it's the love behind
the things that I love
that I love.

That is a poem that I wrote long ago, but which came back in a flash when my dog stole and destroyed a trinket that had belonged to my mother, who is now deceased. After I threw a tantrum, which the dog did not understand, I had to find my peace. I love my dog more than anything he can destroy... except my cats, of course. My mother is not the things she left behind. My dog cannot destroy my memories. The things only hold meaning to me; only my memories give them life. We are in the process of cleaning out my parents' home, now that they have passed on. The house is full of objects whose meaning and memory faded away with my parents. The objects in my home have no life of their own without me. When I have passed on, someone will stand and gaze at these things and wonder if any bit is an heirloom, a treasure, or a trinket. When I am gone, they will have no value to me. While I am here, do they really hold any value? 'Tis a gift to be simple.