Several friends and relatives have died in the last two months. Only yesterday my aunt Rachel died – if I had just a few words to describe her it would be as one of life’s innocents, generous almost to a fault, if you could call it a fault to be taken advantage of occasionally but not actually care. After looking after her father, mother, and ancient aunt until they died, she spent the rest of her life taking in waifs and strays. In the last years of her life she suffered from dementia – when I saw her last year she had no clue who anybody was, including me, and she tried eating her napkin for lunch. But still she was smiling at me with that funny smile of hers -- although she was losing her human faculties, she kept her gentle heart. Physically she was as strong as an ox, surviving on the occasional aspirin, and she only got ill the day before yesterday.
Before Rachel, it was Jenny, the mother of Gen Samten, followed shortly afterwards by Gail, the mother of Robert Goodman, followed by Sandra Sookraj, my close childhood friend, and, two days after that, Bob Hill. All overtaking my own beloved mother, who has been poorly and bedbound for longer than all of them. Other close friends’ parents have also died in the last year or so at a rapid clip; it’s clearly that time. People my age have front row seats to these exits stage right, and we are about to replace them as the oldest generation.
Of course I will have to watch everyone I know die, if I don’t die first. It’s brutal. It’s ridiculous.
I attended Jenny’s and Gail’s funeral services online. I’m going to share a little because cremations or burials always seem significant to me – not least because it’s where most of us are headed.
Jenny
When Maya shared her mother’s unconventional life story, after “Morning has Broken”, it made sense to me why Maya and Gen Samten turned out the way they did -- Jenny was a free spirit from the start. The service included this perfect quote from White Eagle, whom Jenny loved, and which sounds very Buddhist to my ears:
“So go about life condemning none, but looking kindly and with love upon all; hold no harsh thought even about a so-called enemy. In truth, no man can really be your enemy, all are your teachers; and when you are tempted to feel injured or resentful because of some apparent injustice, look first within yourself and ask, "What has this to show me, what have I to learn from this?" In time truth will reveal itself, so that instead of thinking antagonistically you will be able to say, "Thank you, brother, for you have taught me much, and helped me". The other person's motive is not your business. Behind is the guiding hand of wisdom. The great lords of karma rule your ways, and any apparent injustice can be transformed into a jewel of great beauty in your temple, even as deep suffering can bring divine revelation. So put away any sense of injury and look out upon the world with a calm love.”
And this perfect quote from the Buddhist Master Shantideva:
Therefore, in whatever I do,
I will never cause harm to others;
And whenever anyone encounters me,
May it never be meaningless for them.
Jenny’s husband, the wonderful Jim aka Mr T, gave a poetic, heart-touching tribute, and then we all chanted Tara mantras. Altogether, this was a meaningful 30 minutes – impressively pulled together in a short but timeless ceremony.
Gail
I was lucky enough to spend some quality time with Gail a couple of weeks before she died – whether or not she recognized me, she still graced me with that radiant friendly smile. And Robert and I managed to talk with her about life and death and the future, and she was not scared.
At the memorial service, starting with when he first laid eyes on her, “That’s the girl for me,” her husband Dave made a valiant attempt to talk about her life; but how can we possibly sum up a person’s life in a few paragraphs? As Dave said, “How do you condense a life together of 62 years?” We try, but Gail had millions and millions of subjective experiences that her family were never privy to, and never will be now. Nor will she – for those experiences dissolved away almost the moment they appeared, and even their memories have now disappeared forever. She was so alive and now she seems so gone.
Her children remembered her as “a rock I could stand on”. Her grandchildren remembered her cooking and her hugs. Robert gave, according to the vicar (and me), “a powerful and indeed wise tribute” – talking about how, in Buddhism, we contemplate the great kindness of our mother. So, even leaving aside all that other stuff such as treats after swimming lessons and the innumerable times she was simply there for us, our mother also gave us our entire body -- legs, arms, and toes -- and she taught us how to walk, talk, eat, etc. Gail also apparently subscribed to the words of Khalil Gibran:
“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.”
Sandra
Particularly poignant for me was the death of Sandra Sookraj, a close childhood friend from Guyana who died on Friday January 13th from a recurrence of the cancer everyone thought she had beaten. I’d had several discussions with Sandra over the past months about life and death, what is the Pure Land, karma, and so on; and a few days before she died, her sister Debra called me so we could talk about these things again.
Sandra was a Hindu whose main object of refuge was Lord Krishna, so I reminded her of this faith, to feel that he was in her heart and at her crown protecting and looking after her — helping her in this life and in her future lives. I talked about how she was surrounded by love from her family, friends, and people who don’t know her but know of her, and especially love from all the holy beings, including Krishna. I encouraged her not to be scared but to set her sights on his Pure Land so that he could lead her there — a place where everyone has a peaceful and kind mind and wisdom in their hearts, and from where she’d be able to emanate to help her family and all the people of this world. Sandra always felt totally responsible for her family, and a lot of them could not accept that she was dying; so I encouraged her to release the burdens of this life and give herself permission to go happily. That way she’d be able to help them from her next life.
Debra was asking Sandra if she could hear all of this, and Sandra was nodding yes. Twice she opened her eyes to make a big effort to say something to me. First, after apologizing for not replying to my recent texts (apology accepted!), she held eye contact long enough to say that she loved me, that she felt blessed to have had me in her life, “you appeared in my life for a reason”, and that other than her family I was the closest thing to her. The second time she opened her eyes, she said, to my surprise: “I hope Sally doesn’t have to suffer much longer before she goes.” Lying on her own deathbed (for goodness sake), looking quite beautiful and other-worldly, she had this compassion for my mother.
A few days later Debra luckily caught me just as I was walking through the door after a busy day and asked me to talk to Sandra, who was in the death process. I was put on video speaker and able to say some of these things again; and Sandra opened her eyes to look at me one last time. I know she heard. However, it was Debra who was the star that day. In what is not an atypical deathbed scene, some of the other people in the room were shouting for morphine because blood was coming out of Sandra’s nostril, yelling for the doctor, crying loudly, and grasping onto her skinny arms, all in a desperate bid to support her in the only way they could think of. Yet, putting her own considerable grief aside, I watched as Debra managed to calm most of them down and encourage her sister that everything was ok, that she was safe, that she could go now. A few minutes later, Sandra took her last breaths.
People don’t know what to do at deathbeds. Buddha had so much to say on the subject. There is so much we can do. We can make all the difference in the world at this most important time. We have to share this understanding.
Bob
A few days later, a friend here in Denver died. Unlike Sandra’s chaotic hospital room, Bob had luckily ended up in the best hospice I’ve ever seen (I’ve asked them to put me on their waiting list, lol). He had Sangha and his brother visiting him almost non-stop to chat, make prayers, and remind him of his practice -- and his death couldn’t have been more peaceful.
All these deaths have brought me over and over to the question, where have they gone? Where does everyone go? Are they really gone? Where is everyone?!
Feel free to write in with your answers!
More coming up in Part Two, on its way.
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