So loved that ending! A mentor, dear friend and wonderful human named Pete Sutherland died this week up in Vermont. After spending a precious two hours with him earlier this month, a visit we both knew would be our last, we had to say goodbye. I hugged him, told him he would stay with me and headed for the door, not wanting to become too emotional... As I left I called back, "see you down the road, Pete". As if whispering into my ear, he replied from across the room in a clear strong voice. " Yes, See you down the road". I loved this ending too. Brave, grateful for what is and looking forward to the coming adventure with open arms.
Hi David, beautiful piece again today thank you for sharing it. If we let go of the fear of our disappearance… I assume we would feel extremely light and our days would be filled with appreciation and, with all our senses, we would feast on all the beauty around us.. and there would be an elimination of melodrama. I would love to find out.
Having been forced to face my own mortality I chose to exam this 'fear'. And what I discovered was that it wasn't a fear at all, but more of a sadness, a sadness of things that I would miss when I am no longer here. I want to see my boys grow up. I want to hold my grandkids if I have them. But most of all, I was saddened by the thought of my boys not knowing just how much I love them. Then it became crystal clear to me that if that was the biggest source of my sadness/fear, that I could easily remedy that by showing them how much I love them now, in the present moment, to make sure at every moment and interaction that they know. And they do.They KNOW how much I love them.
And that is how I made peace with my impermanence.
Thanks so much for another beautiful piece. I look forward to these weekly posts and the responses are such a beautiful gifts. I find solace that we all share similar vulnerabilities expressed with so much love. Two things are certain, deaths and our perpetual work to address our lives. As a child of war I experienced death at an early age, but it wasn’t until my father passed away at age 17 that it home. I still process his death with my own mortality in mind.
So loved that ending! A mentor, dear friend and wonderful human named Pete Sutherland died this week up in Vermont. After spending a precious two hours with him earlier this month, a visit we both knew would be our last, we had to say goodbye. I hugged him, told him he would stay with me and headed for the door, not wanting to become too emotional... As I left I called back, "see you down the road, Pete". As if whispering into my ear, he replied from across the room in a clear strong voice. " Yes, See you down the road". I loved this ending too. Brave, grateful for what is and looking forward to the coming adventure with open arms.
Hi David, beautiful piece again today thank you for sharing it. If we let go of the fear of our disappearance… I assume we would feel extremely light and our days would be filled with appreciation and, with all our senses, we would feast on all the beauty around us.. and there would be an elimination of melodrama. I would love to find out.
Having been forced to face my own mortality I chose to exam this 'fear'. And what I discovered was that it wasn't a fear at all, but more of a sadness, a sadness of things that I would miss when I am no longer here. I want to see my boys grow up. I want to hold my grandkids if I have them. But most of all, I was saddened by the thought of my boys not knowing just how much I love them. Then it became crystal clear to me that if that was the biggest source of my sadness/fear, that I could easily remedy that by showing them how much I love them now, in the present moment, to make sure at every moment and interaction that they know. And they do.They KNOW how much I love them.
And that is how I made peace with my impermanence.
Thanks so much for another beautiful piece. I look forward to these weekly posts and the responses are such a beautiful gifts. I find solace that we all share similar vulnerabilities expressed with so much love. Two things are certain, deaths and our perpetual work to address our lives. As a child of war I experienced death at an early age, but it wasn’t until my father passed away at age 17 that it home. I still process his death with my own mortality in mind.