La Muerte y la Vida

I haven't posted in this blog in a long time. Being in graduate school has been stressful to say the least. I haven't taken care of myself like I could have, I've focused on the things I didn't have instead of seeing what was right in front of me. Transitions take time, and you can't give yourself hell for everything you do wrong. Now in my last semester of my MSW, I have no idea where I'm going but somehow I feel good about it.

I don't claim to have all the answers. But today on my 31st birthday I have one thing on my mind - death. January 8th two years ago I was struggling to sleep. I was sleeping next to Connie, Chris' stepmother, who was dying. Thanks to excellent care, she had a peaceful death. She was not alone, which is what she wanted. I remember the paleness of her skin, the relief we and grief all at the same time. I remember the cremation company coming to pick her up. Then when went to breakfast.

And that's the strangest part.

The death of a person you love doesn't pause your own life. You still have to eat and sleep and poop and talk to other people. I remember sitting there at breakfast sipping my coffee, looking around, thinking, "everyone here is going to die".

These are the things that we don't talk about in our culture. There is a richness, however, in keeping death at the forefront of our minds. We are mortal. This thing ends. By remembering that we might also appreciate the time that we do have. We might make different choices. We might forgive ourselves for not being perfect. I didn't exercise enough this week. I ate that cupcake. I said the wrong thing to someone I care about. Of course I did, I'm human. That's ok.

Today on my birthday I had the joy of coding my qualitative interviews from the music therapy project I did with farmworkers this summer. So far there was one finding I was surprised by - that participating in a weekly music project not only distracted the guys from stress, it helped them stay in the moment. As one of the workers said, "before, I would count down the days until it was time to go back to Mexico and see my family. On the days you came to visit, I forgot about the countdown. I just played music". 

The present moment, being mindful of death, these things don't take away the pain of missing someone. Chris' dad, Ed, passed away this past September, so soon after Connie. Chris has seen and gone through so much suffering, yet he somehow still has a smile on his face. He is resilient, and I know that he is also sad - as am I. Smiling and sadness are not mutually exclusive.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, say yes. To deep breaths, to chocolate cake, to taking risks, to loving others. There is so much to be afraid of and to be angry at. But today I am ready to begin. Hello, 31! I'm glad you are here.

"Let gratitude be the pillow on which you say your nightly prayer."
-Maya Angelou.