The Birds and The Bees

Today Gregory and I had the big talk. No not the one about The Birds and The Bees but rather the one about life and death. I wasn't sure that I wanted to blog about this but after much introspection, I felt that it is something worthwhile to share.

We all were born (thus the "Birds and the Bees.") And we will all die, but most often we do not tell each other the stories about that. We should. I did.

Sometimes people who care for each other so very much, so very deeply, need to let each other know that when their time of death is near, permission is granted to grab it and run. Don't miss the opportunity to talk about these things with your loved one, especially when he or she is ill or near death.

This is the conversation I had with Gregory yesterday. First I got his attention by asking him if we could talk about something. He focused in on me, with complete eye contact, and I began. During the entire conversation Gregory was more engaged with eye-contact then I have seen him in the last year! Periodically he would agree, or look down and shake his head, or seem to seriously be considering what I was telling him. He would say "Yes" or "I know" or he would shake his head.

He seemed to be with me for the entire conversation. His agreements were appropriately timed which to me showed understanding. He was very serious but I also felt that his face was showing a level of relief at our having the conversation. I told him that of course I would miss him and that I would cry but that I wanted him to know that when his time came to die, he needed to do it for himself and not to worry about me. I would be OK and would be happy that he was at peace, able to visit with his departed mom and dad, see his God. (A divergence for me but what ever is on the other side I referred to as God.)

He reached out and held my hand as I continued. I told him that if I get sick and need to die I will do that knowing that he has given me his permission to do so. And we can wait for each other at (as our niece and nephew say) that Great Starbucks in the Sky.

I cried a little and hugged him. He hugged me back putting his arm around my shoulder and patting gently with his hand. These are skills that he is not often able to accomplish. Again, I melted.

It felt good to have the conversation. Sometimes a person needs to hear that it is OK to "go home" and that the surviving person will be OK. Sad ... but ... OK. I am glad I had the conversation with my Gregory and I think he was also.

Heaven & Hell

From Pema Chödrön

Click here to see original from Pema

There’s another story that you may have read that has to do with what we call heaven and hell, life and death, good and bad. It’s a story about how those things don’t really exist except as a creation of our own minds. It goes like this: A big burly samurai comes to the wise man and says, “Tell me the nature of heaven and hell.” And the roshi looks him in the face and says: “Why should I tell a scruffy, disgusting, miserable slob like you?” The samurai starts to get purple in the face, his hair starts to stand up, but the roshi won’t stop, he keeps saying, “A miserable worm like you, do you think I should tell you anything?” Consumed by rage, the samurai draws his sword, and he’s just about to cut off the head of the roshi. Then the roshi says, “That’s hell.” The samurai, who is in fact a sensitive person, instantly gets it, that he just created his own hell; he was deep in hell. It was black and hot, filled with hatred, self-protection, anger, and resentment, so much so that he was going to kill this man. Tears fill his eyes and he starts to cry and he puts his palms together and the roshi says, “That’s heaven.”

From Awakening Loving-Kindness by Pema Chödrön, pages 65–66