Monday January 23, 2023
Sitting with Death…
Jocelyn Philbrook
I have a visceral reaction to change. My dad used to say, "I change my underpants, and that's enough." I couldn't agree more.
Death brings some of the most significant changes. Routines are broken. Traditional comforts are removed. Spouses are forced to start new. Children need to create new traditions. Friends find new ways to share their experiences. Even adversaries must discover new targets for disputes.
It all feels heavy, right? Not exactly the start of an uplifting reflection. Trigger warning – it gets worse before it gets better.
2020 wasn’t my favorite year. A very close family friend died unexpectantly in January 2020. My dad died suddenly of a heart attack in July 2020. Then my grandfather said goodbye after a long battle with cancer later that month. While that might feel like enough, my brother was officially diagnosed with a terminal disease in the fall of that year. Some days it feels like death is my constant companion.
Father Rob's reflection on Life, Death, and Gratitude prompted me to think a little more about my odd dance with death. It isn't a secret that while I have a fair bit of experience with the topic, I avoid all discussions related to loss. It is a family joke that I quickly disappear when someone starts discussing the end of life, hospice, or funerals. I have done all the parts of celebrating a life that is gone, but I'm not the warm stoic presence that is helpful in those moments. We all have a gift, and discussing mortality is not mine.
I joke about my aversion to change and acknowledge death brings the hurt I’d rather not stare down again. Unfortunately, ignoring the eventuality of death does nothing to prevent it. When we lost our cousin suddenly last spring, I was reminded again that none of us know how long we are here. While that awareness can be scary and dark, it can also provide positive change.
For my family, specifically my siblings, death’s recent closeness to our lives has brought a different perspective. It is an awareness that tomorrow is not promised. Living for today and being happy with the person in the mirror is the new family mantra.
My youngest sister is a treasurer in a private equity firm. While she is the ultimate conservative finance professional, she also bought 100 acres in Maine and ordered a new custom muscle car. My middle sister and brother-in-law adopted my dad’s philosophy that if they have it – they give it. They were always kind and generous, but they are convinced their new mindset has completely (positively) changed their world. My stepmom has semi-retired, becoming a snowbird. She is wintering with her best friend in Florida and coming back here in the summer. And me … I am more secure than ever in my priorities and faith. I drive Randy bananas with my newfound certainty about where things fit in my life. “Often Wrong, Never in Doubt” definitely applies to me.
All our changes are different, but all are based on the idea that what we do today matters more than who we plan to be in the future.
I can't pretend to say I'm grateful for all the losses we've experienced over the last few years. But I am incredibly thankful for the gifts of love and awareness that have come with it. Life is a gift and for my family, living in the present is the best way to enjoy it.
So, I'm not (and will probably never be) the person that will be a warming presence at funerals. If you start a conversation with me about mortality, expect me to look for an escape. I'm okay with it. I am the person that will celebrate all the joys of life and look for ways to offer support in those dark moments. I will also be eternally grateful to those with the fortitude and grace to offer what I cannot. So many wonderful people in our St. John's Community offer help and hope throughout the different phases of this wild ride of life. We are truly blessed.
And to Father Rob, your reflection challenged me to sit with death for a bit, consider its presence, and my aversion to it. I can't say that digging into it made me more likely to change my approach, but it made me more aware and once again incredibly grateful for St. Johns. As always, your wisdom is fertilizer for my soul.