Thoughts on Mortality and Lessons Learned through Grief
Three weeks ago, I lost my father to cancer. He had been battling heroically for fifteen years, beating the odds by a longshot, but eventually passing away at the age of 65. Though I am devastated by the loss, I am thankful for the memories I share with him and the gift he gave me by earning additional time with him. What a blessing to be able to spend his final three weeks by his side. Being able to help take care of him, talk with him, laugh with him, and tell him I love him each night will reside in my memory for as long as I’m on this Earth. That’s the interesting thing about my grieving process: I’ve been able to find small blessings in the devastation of mortality.
The past few weeks have been a blur. It feels like I’m living in a simulation and haven’t yet processed what has happened. Even sitting at the funeral, I didn’t fully comprehend that it was my father resting in that Yellow Pine casket in front of me. I’ve lost track of the days and I’ve lost track of my to-do list because I’ve finally realized that, well, we all face the same fate. 100% of us. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been very aware that we’re all mortal, but losing my father was the first time I’ve come face-to-face with mortality. It’s caused me to re-evaluate my priorities, it’s caused me to question my own faith in God, and had many residual effects. But I hope to share with you what I’ve learned so far through the grief process as I’m sure it will continue to evolve.
My Three Lessons Learned
What hits me first is that human beings trend toward goodness and morality. While we’ve been stuck at home in 2020, many of us have experienced a deterioration of both our emotional and physical wellbeing. Add that to the fact that CNN, Fox News, and MSNBC have taken advantage of record viewership and convinced us that the world is ending. The result? Many of us start to enter self-preservation mode. Focusing inward on our own needs, many of us (me included), have become convinced that we no longer live in a practical world and we need to focus on taking care of ourselves first and foremost.
However, in the days and weeks that followed my father’s passing, I became inspired at people’s empathy and generosity. Patients and friends sharing stories of my father, sending texts to check on me, and delivering food to my family taught me a lesson. Taking care of each other and focusing on others’ needs ahead of our own will lead us to much happier times. In my opinion, this is the secret to happiness. In other words, focus on empathy especially in the face of devastation (and, well, a pandemic).
If you want happiness for an hour, take a nap. If you want happiness for a day, go fishing. If you want happiness for a year, inherit a fortune. If you want happiness for a lifetime, help somebody.
Chinese Proverb
Secondly, I’m learning to focus on top priorities. The fact remains, much of what we worry about doesn’t matter. The dress you’ve picked out for the new party? Short-term view. That new car you’re excited about? The shine will wear off in a few months. Your wardrobe, your new iPhone, the number of Facebook friends you have. In the end, they don’t matter. We spend too much of our time with distractions and not enough time focusing on what matters.
It’s different for each person, but in my life, what ultimately matters is how you treat people, your life’s purpose, and spending time with loved ones. I also stole a life lesson from my father that “life is about your effort, not the result.” How wise to not crown ourselves after each achievement and instead, focus on day-to-day impact. You see, my father lived this everyday, taking care of patients, acting as a counselor, and being an active listener. Defining priorities, putting in the work, and never wavering from his effort of taking care of his patients. His life purpose defined by taking care of people.
Which leads me to asking the question: what is my life purpose? In the past, I’ve been guilty of tying purpose to either a career or calling. If I can find the right job or career, I will find my purpose! Many times we see twenty-somethings join the military, travel the world, or pursue post-graduate education in search of their own life purpose. A never-ending journey. But what hit me like a ton of bricks after my father’s passing was that life purpose can take on many shapes and sizes. For example, my father was a mentor figure to many young men helping to teach them life lessons and also about conservation. This impact will live on far after his death. Perhaps, on the other hand, you have an interest in volunteer work and find purpose in donating your time to worthy causes. This is a legacy worth investing in. Or perhaps your purpose is as simple as bringing a smile to someone’s face everyday. Whatever it is, I’ve decided to reshape my vision of a life purpose to make a larger impact outside of just a career.
Mortality faces us all, but what will you do with your time?
“When you die, it does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and the manner in which you live.”
Stuart Scott
The week before my father’s passing, First United Methodist Church Pastor of Eufaula, Dr. Alan Cassady, visited with my family. You see, my father always fought his battle in private. It was easier for him to get through daily life without folks feeling sorry for him or asking him about his disease. Dr. Cassady knew my dad fought in private; therefore, he asked for my father’s permission to share his condition and add him to the weekly prayer list. My dad obliged and offered to tell the congregation that he “had lost his battle with cancer”. Wait a minute. At this comment I spoke up. In my estimation, beating a diagnosis by 12 years is not losing. Working until 1 month prior to your death is not losing. Fighting to see the birth of your grandchildren, engagement of your youngest son, and celebrating your 40th anniversary was the definition of winning. Though my father’s fate was sealed, he won his battle with cancer and the game of life.
He knew that mortality faces us all. It’s the one of two certainties of life: we live and we die. As Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote in his musical, Hamilton, you live, you die, but who tells your story? And what will they say about you? Will they say you had a transformational impact on this world? Will they say you were a good mother, father, son, daughter? Will they say you cared about them or you had purpose? These are some of the questions I am pondering and reconciling during this time of grief.