Mortality

A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 341: From Death, Life Renewed

Mom 001

Today marks five years to the day that I sat at my Mom’s bedside and watched her die. She had lived an incredibly gracious, humble life. I felt humbled to be there with her for her final breath. And I felt such grace in that room, in the emotions and character of the family present, in the God who took her home amidst her struggle with Alzheimer’s.

I decided to re-post the very first article I wrote on this blog back on Dec. 27, 2013. I reflect on her death, yes, but more so on the reality of mortality. There is something about being confronted by death in such a personal, intimate way. Hopefully you’ll see as you read this that I don’t mean that to sound morbid or depressing; in fact, I hope you’ll see that it can lead us to living life far more graciously, humbly and exquisitely than we tend to do.

Here is that very first post:

A little more than a year ago I sat by the bedside of my mom as she panted out her last breath of life. I looked into her eyes as that moment approached, told her I loved her, and gave her permission on behalf of my siblings to “go home”, as I phrased it. It was a sacred moment, a heart-breaking moment, and a privileged moment all at the same time. I have never been that close to death, never been in the room, staring death in the face, when it appeared. I had never even contemplated being that intimate with death. Contrary to popular imaginings, it was not a frightening thing or a gruesome thing. It got me thinking how our end is so much a part of who we are. It is just a moment, like birth in that way, yet a defining moment.

I am in so many ways an average middle-aged man, edging closer to 50 as I write this. As an average middle-aged man I realize that this time of life is a typical time to consider mortality; perhaps even more typical than the supposed “mid-life crisis” that is celebrated in song and story. But the experience in that moment, those brief minutes, of watching my mom pass from life to death have pushed me beyond the superficialities of hair transplants and sports cars. I now consider death in general and my death specifically without fear. Funny, that.

We live in a modern society that is so far removed from the reality of death. In fact, it seems that we try to wipe it from our communal subconscious with our worship of youth, culture of athletic clubs, and overall sanitization of all things moribund. At one time the experience of death was a common thing, a shared event that involved whole families and villages. Certainly, from the early days of childhood people would have memories of seeing the dying and dead, going through the mourning, burying the passed in the ground and moving on with life. But this is not our experience any longer. And I do believe we are the more pathetic culture because of this fact. We are to be pitied because we do not live with the reality of death close at hand.

With death close, we learn more and more that each day is a gift. I know that is a hackneyed thing to write. My apologies. However, it is still true. As being plunged into total darkness helps you appreciate a tiny light; as gasping for breath on a mountaintop helps you appreciate the air you take in easily with each breath; death helps you truly and deeply appreciate life. What a gift, then, is that part of each of our lives we, ironically, fear and push far, far away from our minds and experiences.

Those are some deep thoughts for a first blog, I know. Likely, I won’t get that profound on a regular basis (if my past history holds true, that is). But I do hope to use this forum to share thoughts on existence – yours, mine – and perhaps help us all to embrace the time we’ve been given with the kind of bear hug it deserves.

A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 332: Memento Mori

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“Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris.”  (“Remember, O man, that you are dust, and to dust you will return.”) – From the Roman Catholic liturgy, based on Genesis 3:19, traditionally spoken on Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent.

Yesterday I had a post in praise of the latest Marvel Comics Netflix series, The Punisher. There is a moment in the series when another character sees Frank Castle, the Punisher himself, spray painting the iconic skull image onto the front of his bullet proof vest. He says to Frank, “You know what that is? That’s a Memento Mori.”

Nothing like a little Latin with your pop culture.

What is a Memento Mori exactly? Literally, a reminder of death. Of course, The Punisher wears it to let the bad guys know what’s coming for them. But in art history a Memento Mori was used not so much as a judgment upon others but as a reminder to oneself. Most often in the form of a skull or skeleton, these were works of art meant to lead the viewer to considering their own mortality, which in turn would lead to humility and  thankfulness to God. The concept of the Memento Mori goes a long way back in the history of Christianity and can be seen in many churches and cathedrals, monasteries and covents. It is a common motif in Western culture.

I came upon a blog called Funeral Zone that had this to say of these reminders of mortality: “Memento mori primarily had a moral and religious purpose: to remind its owner or viewer that the afterlife awaited, and to not be overtly attached to material pleasures, in light of the prospect of divine judgment.”

In our popular culture, skulls and skeletons are Halloween decorations or used to convey some kind of badass image or played up for comedy. It is interesting, however, that though we don’t consciously use them as reminders of mortality anymore, they’re still with us, almost impossible to ignore, popping up in many different places and forms.

Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing to be reminded that we are all destined to die. We seem to be people driven to do whatever we can to never think about it, to worship at the altar of eternal youth and beauty instead. But wouldn’t we all be better off, more humble, more aware of the preciousness of each day, if we were more aware of how little time we each had on this earth?

I realized after I had looked into the history of the Memento Mori that I created one myself that now hangs in the TV room in my basement. It is a mosaic I made from craft foam after I saw a similar mosaic from the third century with a similar sentiment recently discovered in Turkey:

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If you want to read more about the history of the Memento Mori, check out the link to the article I’ve quoted above from Funeral Zone:

https://www.funeralzone.co.uk/blog/memento-mori

A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 316: Sunday God Quote from an Atheist

“The world is so exquisite with so much love and moral depth, that there is no reason to deceive ourselves with pretty stories for which there’s little good evidence. Far better it seems to me, in our vulnerability, is to look death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provides.” – Carl Sagan

It may seem counterintuitive to put a quote by an Atheist as your Sunday God Quote of the week. However, I couldn’t help but notice, though I am a Theist, that I agree very much with what Carl Sagan said.

I know that one problem Atheist have with God-believers is this notion of heaven, of an eternal somewhere in the great by-and-by, with streets of gold and shiny angels. It can be especially galling to the Atheist when they see the notion of heaven used to subjugate people, get them to accept their “lot” in life with a promise of something glorious after death. Or when heaven is an excuse to destroy the earth you live on, to strip it bare of resources and pollute it because, after all, it is all going to be burned up and replaced in the end. Or simply because it is too unbelievable, too much of an almost literal pie-in-the-sky mentality that distracts from the reality, both good and bad, of the life and the world we have to live here and now.

Though I am a Christian, have spoken and taught about heaven and the afterlife described in the Bible, have sung lots of songs about eternity and eternal life, and believe in resurrection (a necessity, I find, to accept that “Jesus Christ is Lord” thing), I have never been particularly motivated in my life by a great promise of a Hereafter. To me, the concept of a possibility of a life after this one doesn’t give me my motivation to get out of bed in the morning, to go to work, to love my family, to do good things, to consider people, to work for peace, to take care of my environment, to hug trees (which I do now and again) or snuggle with animals (which I try to do more often than now and again). Heaven is too out there, too vague, too undefined, to be something I cling to on a daily faith basis. And, frankly, I find believers who spend inordinate amounts of time thinking and talking about it kind of annoying. They are so often missing out on the original gift their God has given them: Life. Here. Now. Right in front of their flippin’ nose.

The older I get, the more I find Life fascinating. Perhaps it is because of that creeping sense of mortality. But I am learning not to be afraid of that inevitability, or even to soften the blow by talking of heaven, but to instead realize that if God has given me this time, I have a responsibility to give that time back, to live to the fullest I am capable of living, to embrace my gifts and abilities, to love people without holding anything back. In this way I am in total agreement with Carl Sagan: “Far better it seems to me, in our vulnerability, is to look death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provides.”

Amen, Carl. Preach it. I may get me a turtleneck or two just to be more like you.

I realize that the concept of Heaven has been very, very important for oppressed people groups or people in terrible straights or conditions. In that kind of circumstance, the pondering of a God who loves you so much as to embrace you and bring you Home one day is lovely and, honestly, comforting. But for a North American Christian like myself, one who has known nothing but religious freedom all my life, who has been given so much, I choose not to focus on Heaven but on earth and on what each day brings to me. Here. Now. Right in front of my flippin’ nose.

Until Death It Is All Life

Ronald Kok, Until Death It i All Life, Craft Foam Mosaic, 2017