Recently, on a trappy blue-sky Saturday, I attended my first “woke wake.”
My dear friend has welcomed in the love and superintendency of hospice, and she and her family wanted to host a celebration.
The meaning of “woke” signals an sensation of social action, with a focus on racism and bias in our culture. She moreover wanted to be “awoke” to the wits of her wake. Increasingly importantly, her party was an honest expression that she will die soon. Her acknowledgement was courageous.
We share so openly well-nigh birth, and yes, there is deep sorrow with death, but doesn’t it deserve as much unshut acknowledgement? Silence only makes the journey that much increasingly difficult.
In her rose-rimmed glasses, moving well-nigh the party with such grace, she held her truth with pride. Her heart is full yet has wilt so weak.
There were plates of delicacies with brie decorating beets, fall fruit bowls ornate with persimmons and pomegranate, plates of pumpkin brownies and breads, fries finding dips, laughter finding tears.
She preferred we didn’t clink cups and share stories. Instead, it was both a “Bon Voyage” and “Welcome Home” celebration. The voyage is universal for all of us. Home becomes the outstretched stovepipe of loving polity and, as Ram Dass wrote, “We are all just walking each other home.”
The morning my father passed yonder just shy of ninety-five, I spoke with him by phone as he lay in his hospital bed. The last thing he said in his forever strong but raspy voice, surpassing hanging up the phone, was “Well, gotta go honey.”
We all “gotta go,” but the privilege some of us have to plan for how we go is a gift. Many do not have that luxury due to economic, social, and possible cultural differences.
But for many, there are touchable plans we can make as we etch our wills, designating our medical power of attorney, our financial executor, DNR, and life support decisions. We can designate who will inherit our wares and heirlooms. We can decide specifics in regard to a traditional burial, cremation, or plane soul composting, which is a process that transforms the soul into soil to be then returned to the earth.
Getting our wires in order in touchable ways seems easier than having a conversation well-nigh our own death or that of our friends, family, and white-haired parents.
Melanie Klein, a well-known British psychologist, believes the fear of death is the crux of anxiety. Whether one believes in this premise or not isn’t that important. But the truth is that often our feelings well-nigh death are kept deep inside. Yet discussion can ease our anxiety as we squatter the existential concerns well-nigh our mortality.
I’m in an intimate group with six other women where we discuss aging, living, and dying. Sometimes we discuss the typesetting we are reading, but increasingly often than not, we share our hopes, dreams, and fears well-nigh the future. As our skin softens with age, our “thin skin” makes us increasingly sensitive to issues virtually death.
Often, there are concerns well-nigh stuff dependent and a wish to not undersong those who superintendency for us. And who will superintendency for us? Will we be okay financially? How will our persons and minds hold up in the years to come? We moreover discuss worry well-nigh those we’ll leave behind. How will children cope?
These are difficult topics. But stuff in polity while voicing our feelings and asking these questions can make us finger less alone. If possible, opening up the discussion with loved ones is important. And the hope is that when our time comes, we will all be largest prepared and have had some of our questions answered.
Those who die surpassing us often wilt our teachers. As we shepherd memorials and wakes, we squatter that we will protract to say farewell to loved ones and inevitably ourselves. How those surpassing us handle the farewell often educates us as to how we would like to end our journey in both similar and dissimilar ways. But this takes conversation, something too often avoided.
My friend has taught me so much and expressly well-nigh her devotion to and her honesty with her grown children. I will want my children to know they are going to be just fine in the world no matter the twists and turns in their life. And that I promise I will never be far away.
It is said that unsuspicious the inevitability of death helps us winnow we are all just visiting for a short while. That recognition reminds us to fathom life and make it a good visit.
I hugged my friend goodbye and thanked her for hosting a lovely celebration. It was a good visit with a table of bounty. Maybe that is what we can all hope for as the party ends and the lights go out.
About Priscilla Dann-Courtney
Priscilla Dann-Courtney is a writer and clinical psychologist in Boulder, CO. where she and her husband raised their three children. She has been in private practice for thirty years treating both adults and adolescents. Her areas of expertise include: eating disorders, mood disorders, life transitions, and relationship issues. Her columns have appeared nationally and her book, Room to Grow, Stories of Life and Family (Norlights Press, 2009) was her way to navigate the light, dark, and wonder of life. priscilladanncourtney.com
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