“In fact, when I put away the urgent, the only important thing left was my faith and those around me. That was it. It was really all quite simple. Death brought a clarity I had not recognized before.”
I am not the same person I was three years ago. Three years ago, before the death of my 20-year-old son, I was oblivious to pain. I thought I understood what it meant to grieve. Death taught me otherwise.
I thought I understood unfortunate events and the unfairness of this world. But all of that changed, the moment my child died. I changed. I am intrinsically different. This harsh, dark visit from Death changed me in beautiful ways.
10 Ways Death Changed Me
Lesson 1 – Death taught me to see the heartache of others.
Before the death of my son, Josh, I thought I understood pain. I’d lost my grandparents, my dad, cousins, aunts, uncles, and close friends. Yet, nothing prepared me for losing my son. You see, though I thought I understood pain, I’d never felt pain like this before. The physical ache was unquenchable. The paralysis was unrelenting, as I remained stuck in a body which refused to cooperate.
My vision blurred and focused only on the “moment” replaying in my head with a deep sense of regret. Pain. Such deep, deep sorrow and pain. It taught me something dear. Death taught me that heartache was invisible, and it was a sweet pleasure to let others know that neither they nor their pain was invisible to me. Your pain is not invisible. You are loved.
Lesson 2 – Death taught me “fair” is subjective.
I always believed that fair meant you got what you deserved. If you worked hard, you succeeded. If you slacked off, you failed. That was fair. I also believed that this world simply wasn’t fair. What about chance? But death changed that ideal. In fact, after his visit, I wondered if Death was too fair. He didn’t care if you were young or old, rich or poor. He didn’t care if you were ready or not; good or bad. Death came for all. He was totally and completely fair. Maybe, fair is subjective. What one sees as unfair, is more fair than any of us would choose to believe. Know that if you are reeling from the fairness of Death’s visit, you are not alone.
Lesson 3 – Death taught me that I am not in charge.
There were so many things I thought I had control over before my son died. Truth be told, I thought my life was great because I was responsible. I thought my children were good because I raised them well. I thought my day went well because I chose to see the good in each day. I was wrong.
In actuality, I was working under the notion of perceived control. In an instant, beyond my control, my life was turned upside down… and it didn’t feel so great. I was still responsible, but my life had turned into an unrecognizable train wreck. In an instant, beyond my control, one of my children had made a mistake that swiftly ended his life, yet he was raised well. In an instant, my day was going anything but well… no matter how I chose to see that day. Complete control is an oxymoron. It doesn’t exist. Death taught me that, and he’s a good teacher.
Lesson 4 – Death taught me to be a kinder person.
Knowing that life was fairer than I ever imagined and that it didn’t care what kind of control any of us thought we had, gave me a sense of understanding. I realized that many people walking around were wandering around with unintended consequences of events beyond their control. This knowledge made me less judgmental and more understanding. Simply put. I was kinder. You know what? Kind ain’t so bad.
Lesson 5 – Death taught me to hop in the picture.
Over 700 pictures were available to view at Josh’s funeral. Pictures scrolled across the oversized screen before the attendees. Albums sat on tables, sprawled across the large gathering room, for visitors to view. Select photos were beautifully framed awaiting signatures from friends and family. So many pictures of Josh. More of them were taken when he was younger than older. But, they were beautiful. I loved them. But, with thoughtfulness, I wondered where I was.
Where was I when this picture was taken? How about that one? The closer I looked, the more absent I appeared. I was barely present in any of the pictures. Now, he’s gone. I’ll never be able to snap another picture with him. That thought saddens me. But, it also reminds me of a very important lesson death taught me: hop in the picture. Be there, and show the world I was there. I only have one opportunity to live each moment. Make it count, and hop in the picture. Have you hopped in a picture today?!
Lesson 6 – Death taught me the unimportance of all the important stuff.
Life seemed so much more important before Josh died. Everything mattered. My kids mattered. Of course the job was important because it’s how we took care of the kiddos. The homework was vital to getting a good education. Laundry, groceries, and all the errands needed to be completed before the close of the weekend. It was how well run households worked.
But, after death’s visit, I realized that job took up way too much time. Much of the homework was busy work. I noticed that I really only wore five different outfits, and groceries could wait a few days. In fact, when I put away the urgent, the only important thing left was my faith and those around me. That was it. It was really all quite simple. Death brought a clarity I had not recognized before.
Lesson 7 – Death taught me to LOVE HARD, in spite of the pain.
The tug of pain on my heart is nothing but love. It’s love trying to find it’s way to the heart so far away. It’s love wandering the empty space looking for the place it once laid her head. It’s just love. And, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’ll take a chunk full of heartache for another day to love my boy. In spite of the pain, it was all worth it, every second. Each day, this pain is a reminder that I LOVED well. There are a lot of things I wish I could re-do. But, one thing I did well was love. My love has been tested by death… and it won.
Lesson 8 – Death taught me how to lean on others.
I believed in leaning before Josh died, but I always felt others were to lean on me. I didn’t mind. Having a bad day, lean on me. I felt appreciated. I felt needed. But, when I found myself in a place of needing to know how to lean on others, I didn’t know how to bend their direction. I was rigid, stiff, and silent. I didn’t know how to ask.
I slowly started by testing the waters, lightly resting my head on my husband’s shoulder. My vulnerability felt embarrassing. I thought I was stronger. Thought I could handle anything. Now, I felt like a little girl thrown into a state of bewilderment. Once I realized that I was only human; that I was neither capable nor meant to be a stoic mountain of strength during this time, I began to crumble. And, as I tumbled to the floor, I was caught and found a beautiful resting spot. It’s okay not to be okay. It’s okay to need help. It’s okay to lean. Thank you, Death, for teaching me to lean on others.
Lesson 9 – Death taught me that I’m much braver than I ever imagined.
Leaning on others requires some serious guts. It’s terribly difficult to ask for help. Yet, I did it. I fought the embarrassment. I fought the self-reliance. I mustered up every ounce of strength I had, and I found a place of rest and support. I was strong. Strong wasn’t what I thought it was. Strong is getting up knowing that each morning you’d be hit with disbelief, realizing that nightmare wasn’t a dream at all. Strong is walking around your home, passing your child’s picture, and continuing to take the next step, knowing it contains their favorite sweatshirt, shoes, or bag. It’s hugging friends and congratulating them on a milestone hit by their child. It’s sitting at weddings, baby showers, and graduations. Strong is being a bereaved parent. Death taught me the meaning of strength.
Lesson 10 – Death taught me to appreciate the small things.
When someone you love dies, no one cares about the promotion, the graduation, or the other dozen awards you have laying around. No one’s focusing on the big celebrations and all the really cool days. Nope. The things that are nearest are the way he said “Mom”, his sweet nature, or the way he would hold his hands just so as he explained why you were wrong. It was the small conversations that were never planned. Grief (love) is in the small things. It’s in the unused razor left on the counter, the parked car sitting in the driveway, the shoes left by the front door. Each of these hold the dearest memories that will bring us to our knees with longing. They are filled with the things that matter. Truly, death taught me to appreciate the small things in life.
What has death taught you?
There are so many teachers in life, but death may be the best. His abrupt frankness has a way of making us face issues we didn’t think we were ready to conquer. What has death taught you? I’d love to hear. Let me know in the comments below.
xoxo,
Rachel
©Rachel Blado www.OnTheWayToWhereYoureGoing.com All Rights Reserved.
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