Health Part Deux
Let's start back a couple weeks ago when I received a memorial card in the mail for a past client of ours. She was a bright, funny, sweet and kind woman we dealt with for many years. She was a lovely decorator, worked hard, loved her kids and was all around a genuinely honest and caring person. My mum and I were surprised to hear that news that she had died late last year and her husband sent out the card to notify us with his business card inside. When I opened the envelope, I gasped and then I cried. What a sad loss for their family. I felt for the husband because she always spoke so highly of him even after years of marriage. My heart broke for their 2 kids who are just a bit younger than me and likely starting their lives without their mother. I put the card on my desk and there it sat for over 2 weeks. My intentions of going to Chapters and getting a nice card and mailing it slowly dashed by my busy life. At the end of last week when I was trying to sort through the piles on my desk I finally figured what the heck, if it were me I would just want to hear from someone no matter what form and so I emailed the husband a quick note just to say that I was so sorry for his loss, that his wife was a spectacular lady and that we were both very shocked and saddened to hear this news. I wasn't expecting anything in return.
Which brings me to yesterday. He phoned me. I knew who it was before I answered and I bolstered myself for what came next. We spoke for a few minutes. He had remembered that my dad had died a few years back and remarked how his wife had been so effected by that. He talked about how she was well right up until 2 weeks before she died. He also said this:
"Losing our loved ones is a risk we take participating in the universe, we all forget we aren't invincible until we learn we are not"
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Being alive means accepting death. Being loved and loving means accepting that we can and will lose those we care about most. Being human means suffering and joy and everything in between and our culture is terrible at the loss part. When he started to cry with me I knew we must be moving in the right direction. A man I've never met, late 50s bawling on the phone seemed shocking at first but also felt like the appropriate thing. He is suffering and likely called me to bring back a bit of his wife through my memories of her. I cried in my office for a while after.
In the middle of a hellish month (fuck February), in the middle of a grueling day this tidbit was handed to me. I'm grateful for that call, I'm grateful that it helped snap me out of the blahs for a minute and I'm grateful that I'm thinking it all through.
Peace out.
Which brings me to yesterday. He phoned me. I knew who it was before I answered and I bolstered myself for what came next. We spoke for a few minutes. He had remembered that my dad had died a few years back and remarked how his wife had been so effected by that. He talked about how she was well right up until 2 weeks before she died. He also said this:
"Losing our loved ones is a risk we take participating in the universe, we all forget we aren't invincible until we learn we are not"
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Being alive means accepting death. Being loved and loving means accepting that we can and will lose those we care about most. Being human means suffering and joy and everything in between and our culture is terrible at the loss part. When he started to cry with me I knew we must be moving in the right direction. A man I've never met, late 50s bawling on the phone seemed shocking at first but also felt like the appropriate thing. He is suffering and likely called me to bring back a bit of his wife through my memories of her. I cried in my office for a while after.
In the middle of a hellish month (fuck February), in the middle of a grueling day this tidbit was handed to me. I'm grateful for that call, I'm grateful that it helped snap me out of the blahs for a minute and I'm grateful that I'm thinking it all through.
Peace out.
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