Death
For most of my life death has been a traumatic event.  It has been me clinging to the past. Angry at life’s progression.    I have been stubborn. Aggressive. Unable to accept it gently. Unable to understand death, its purpose or reason.

But over the past few years death has been a frequent visitor to our family.  Small deaths happening with consistent regularity. Large, impactful losses occurring, layering lost life, one upon the other.

And because of this, it is becoming acceptable.

Horrifically acceptable.

In my youth I would watch movies that included war scenes, and “senseless deaths”. I would cry my teenage tears, feeling each loss deeply.

Each familial loss was impactful. A moment carved in time.  It forged me, defined my years.  It left lasting impact and, even today, fearful memories.

I fought death for so many years.  I tried to beat it, to defy it.  It was my enemy.

And still death continued to happen.

Death these days has no boundaries. It occurrs over night and in the early morning.  It happens at lunch time, or late afternoon, sometimes peacefully, sometimes through violence, and sometimes it would even happen by our hand.

Death. Everywhere. Loss of life.  Final breaths.

The firsts were excruciating, both for me and the kids. But eventually the pain would subside, until another would happen to shock my senses.   Through each loss,  my children changed.  They adjusted to it much quicker than I did, eventually understanding it was a natural and expected part of life

They honoured each death.  Respected the dead.  Allowed it to have its moment.

And i leaned from them.

I learned to pick up small dead bodies and place them in safe places. I found the words to say “it is time”, and allow the unthinkable to happen.

My tears stopped. The fighting stopped. The pain diminished. I learned how to respect the experience of death, to welcome it, and trust that it came when it was the right time to come, even though it didn’t always make sense.  I learned how to know which lives could be extended, and which needed to come to an end.  I trusted that it was a decision I was allowed to make.

I spent less time angry at death and more time appreciating the life that was lived.  I understood that the days that were enjoyed DO have meaning, and that they honoured the passing in a way nothing else can.

Death now is a process, and expected part of life.  It is a ritual that is valued, and given its time and it’s place.

But each time I feel it coming I still feel that rumble of fear in my belly.  My heart lurches as I feel it’s approach.
My instinct is to fight it. To scream at it and force it away.

But, my kids surround me and remind me that it’s appearance is not unexpected and they show me how to find my strength and make peace.

And so today we bury another little soul.  And the kids help dig the grave and they collect the flowers. And they cover her little fury body with blooms and petals and we say goodbye.

And I say goodbye.
And I don’t cry, because I know a life lived well is a special thing, and that having it end is just natural.