Life is fragile, ephemeral:
“We are like a breath of air; our days are like a passing shadow” (Psalm 44).
I hesitate to write about this unavoidable fact, because we (I) do, in fact, avoid it. And yet, this reality often intrudes into our denial, forcing us to recognize it before we banish the thoughts once again to the hidden files in the far corner of our brains.
I had a dear friend who, at 98, was waiting, rather impatiently, for her death. “Why has the Lord left me here for so long?” she would ask during our visits. And so, when, 1 week before her 99th birthday she breathed her last, I knew it was as she willed and as she expected.
But not everyone is awaiting death and is as prepared for its arrival as Lillian was.
These are the deaths that have made me realize my own denial and lack of preparedness: 3 friends, who, in the course of their daily activities, one on a walk, one riding her bike, and one mailing a package, were killed in an auto-pedestrian accident.
And my sister, Virginia, who became aware of an upset stomach on Thursday, could not have realized that, on Saturday morning, this symptom of internal bleeding would end her life.
When someone’s life is extinguished so quickly, those of us who knew and will miss them can clearly see and regret the things left undone. If only I had . . .
Do those souls also regret the things undone?
Who among us has completed all tasks, indeed, completed all that God has led us to accomplish?
These are difficult but strong lessons. We cannot go back and change the things we left undone, the missed opportunity for kindness or patience or acts of remembrance for those who have died. But we can grasp the truth: death is real, and it is on the horizon for all of us.
I do not want to go to my own death with things undone.
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
(Longfellow, “A Psalm of Life”)
These unexpected deaths of loved ones expunges my denial and motivates me to focus on one question: What is my legacy?
I’m remembering my mother, whose legacy was love of family. She was untiring in her support and applause, always in the wings while we, her children, were performing our lives. Because we were important in her eyes, we became important in our own.
I’m remembering two aunts, who shared a legacy of courage and joy in times of great challenge, one with multiple sclerosis which left her wheel-chair bound, and the other who suffered through the loss of her only son, followed by that of her husband. The example of their lives en-courages me.
I’m remembering a dear friend, Jan, whose legacy was appreciation of and zest for life. Always enthusiastic, always adventurous, she modeled gladness and gratitude for each day the Lord had made.
She opened my eyes to the wonders that surround me.
And I am remembering Lillian, who found the answer to her question. The Lord left her here until she had completed the task of mentoring those of us who would follow her.
I am also emulating friends whose legacy, I believe, will be the example of faith. Desiring to be like Patrice and Lynn, I consider my own commitment to my beliefs.
I would like my legacy to be a composite of all of these: I pray that my children and friends will remember me as always supportive, always courageous, always glad, grateful, and faithful. And I pray that they will take up that legacy as they bequeath their own.
“Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?”
(Mary Oliver, “Summer Day”)