Today has been two years since my ex-husband Alan died unexpectedly. I was still his emergency contact even though we had been divorced for over two years. This sadly placed me in the position of having to make those heartbreaking phone calls to our children and to his Mother back in Ireland. For me this was the hardest part about his death. I once had received that same call from my Father, to let me know that my son had been killed in an accident. Just a few words changed the course of my life. I knew the weight of what I would say would do the same for his family. His death saddened me. It was truly the end of my second life. I did have to come to the realization that with his death I would not get the apology and closure I had hoped to get from him. I would have to forgive him without that. It took awhile. I did get there, the bitterness that I held is replaced by memories and sadness. I feel sadness for him that he lived his life in such a self-destructive way. I am working on remembering the good times and the love we shared, I do this for our kids. They deserve the good memories.
Death follows us throughout our lives. If we are fortunate to live a long life we will suffer the loss of many people dear to us. My first experience with death was while I was still a preschooler. It wasn't anyone close to me but a younger girl at church. I don't recall her name. I do remember her though. She was a pretty little girl. She lived with her mother and grandparents. She always wore the prettiest dresses and fluffy petticoats to church. Her mother and grandparents just doted on her. I was envious of her. She was riding in a car with her Mother when the accident occurred. This was the early 1960's, there was no such thing as child safety seats, and only the newer cars had seatbelts. Even minor accidents were often deadly for children. Her Mother was uninjured but she was thrown through the windshield and died instantly. My Mother took me with her to the funeral, This was the first one I remember attending. I can still picture her laying in the casket, beautiful dress, fluffy petticoat. Her face though bore the marks of her injury. I felt ashamed that I had once been so envious of her. It changed me. It still to this day effects me when I start to feel envy towards another person.
The first loss of a family member was that of my Grandfather McCorkle (mentioned in an earlier post). I was nine when he died after a month long battle with pneumonia. The call came as we were finishing up breakfast and heading back to school for the first day after the Christmas break. It wasn't an unexpected death, but still was surprising when he passed.
I have now lived so many years that I have seen the passing of all of my grandparents, my own parents, and their siblings. I have lost a brother, his young son, a niece, my own son, and several cousins. I also have sadly felt the loss of friends, acquaintances, ex-boyfriends, an ex-husband and many beloved pets. Some of those deaths I still carry with me. There is still a sadness can threaten to pull me under, the joyful memories though lift me back up. I reach out to feel their energy and know that they are with me.
As I get older I know that death will become a more frequent visitor, mine will be the final one. How do I prepare for and face the inevitable? When I was younger, thoughts of my own death were frightening. Facing the unknown, or facing Heaven or Hell as I struggled with the Christian teachings of my youth. When my son died my fears were removed. I felt a different energy around him and myself. Death then became just a doorway to another plane of existence. It wasn't to be feared. I can look back on my life now and know I have lived a life that was fulfilling. I have loved and been loved. I have had a pretty amazing life. I hope to live for many more years and have many more adventures. But if I were to die tomorrow I will not be sad. I will not be frightened. I do not want anyone to be sad. Celebrate the life I lived. Celebrate the joyful moments. Celebrate that I have only passed through a door.
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