The Sacred Art of Dying

I reminded Charlotte and Zach yesterday that that afternoon I would be participating in the first day of The Sacred Art of Dying workshop that Callanish was holding.

Zach flashed Charlotte a quick sideways glance and said "Is there something that you're not telling us?" I said "No. You know me, I have forthright Tourette's. If there's anything new to tell, you will know." They both had a puzzled look and I told them that it is reassuring and calming to deal with one's demise (be it imminent or not), that it helps to live life fully. They didn't seem convinced and I don't expect them to be. They just turned 12 and 14. But somewhere that data is tucked away in their grey matter and it will serve them well.

I then told them a very sad and true story about a businessman who died at work, in a washroom, from a heart attack. No chance for good-byes. No chance to "put one's affairs in order." I told the kids that I would way rather die from metastatic cancer than die unexpectedly like that.

I used to think that being in my mid-40's meant that I was middle-aged. My beloved grandmother, Evi, died when she was 91, and so I just assumed I would live to my 90's as well. When I thought I had half my life left to live I was--in retrospect--very casual about how I spent my time.

But what if today really was my last day of life? Did I notice the birds singing as I awoke. Did I take the time to look at all the green shoots and spring bulbs in the garden or just rush past to hop in the car and get to work/appointment/kids dropped off. What messes did I create in my rush to start my day. Did I hug my loved ones or holler at them? Is my will up-to-date? Did I leave love letters to intimates that I had written so many times in my head?

What if I die today? And what if I don't? Will I be startled enough by the notion that I may not have as long as I had assumed/planned/wanted/depended on to actually be inspired to consider what The Sacred Art of Living might mean for me?