Planning for the end can wake us up
I have been feeling sad for a while now. Life feels so painful these days…the state of the country and the world, my aging process, declining body parts, general wearing out and wearing down. Some days it all feels like too much. Today is one of those days.
So, I finally did one thing that I have been putting off forever…starting to research my final arrangements. I have been curious about water cremation, and about a place where they mix your cremains with the right nutrients to then bury them under a tree that you choose, with a small plaque with your name on it. I love trees, and that feels like a good final home for me. Under a tree, where I can help nourish that tree and we can become part of each other.
Is it worth making all these final plans? Some people just donate their bodies to science and are done with it. Maybe I need to think about that option. What does it really matter? I will be dead. I won’t care anymore.
Strange, this preparation for your own exit. But it must be done. So, here I am.
I have been so stressed and have not been feeling well physically. I finally went to see my doctor, as I have been extremely fatigued, have had some shortness of breath, have gained weight (which may be the reason for all this), have stopped exercising, and can’t seem to find my spirit to participate in my own life. I love to write, to paint, yet both are slowed down. I have been isolating more. And I cry… a lot. It feels deeper than depression. There is anticipatory grief as I witness and feel the decline of my body. I don’t have any motivation or energy. Add to this the horrifying state of our country and the world where we are witnessing the daily attacks on our democracy, if we even have one left at this point. How did this happen, and so quickly? Daily trauma has become the new normal.
This is where I can get into a negative spiral down into the dark places of my soul.
I begin to wonder what I have contributed to this world, what have I done? What good have I done? Who really cares?
I can’t talk to many people about this. They don’t know how to simply listen, often feeling compelled to give me advice. I already know what would help, I just can’t seem to do it.
I wanted to enjoy retirement as I began that journey 5 years ago. Then came the pandemic, and then several major losses in a row. And now, this political environment that is also sickening. I have lost much already in my life, which is part of aging, but I never thought that I would lose the country that I loved and fought so hard to remain in, the ideals that we stood for, the freedom that I felt, that I never felt as a child but finally did as an adult, my beloved country where you could say what you believe, believe what you want, and be who you want. Of course, we had a lot of work to do toward living these values, as we were far from perfect in all of this, but we were trying. Not anymore. We have been taken over by a group of fascists with their narcissistic puppet-king. And it feels devastating to me, as I know it does to many of us.
Every day there are more threats to freedom and liberty. I can feel Lady Liberty’s pain within my soul. Her pain is my pain, our pain.
Is this what makes us ready to go, finally? Do we get tired of the fight? Do we tire of setting the boundaries until our bodies finally set the eternal one that cannot be crossed.
When I do allow myself to simply sit and feel, the tears always come. The pain feels intolerable.
And yet, I am still here, still on this sacred earth, still feeling, still loving, still crying, still alive.
I will go for a walk in the redwoods again soon. I will talk with and touch the trees, listen to what they may have to say to me, feel what wisdom they can share. I will feel a part of the earth again, while I am still walking on it.
I will keep writing, start painting again, hopefully. I will let the tears flow before I try to stuff my feelings down. I will listen to the owls at night.
I will take one breath at a time, get back up and start trying to live my life again, intentionally. I will continue to protest, contribute, speak the truth, be kind, be present, join hands with those of my tribe, live as fully as I can and use my voice. I am still here, and still alive. Let me be part of it while I can.
I will make my arrangements for death, then walk away and keep living.
I'm Not Dead Yet! 
You are not alone. In fact, you sound like me talking. At this point I try to ignore the misery – it’s just peptides making my body feel emotional pain. Intellectually, I actually feel good about the fact that my soul comes from the pool everyone elses’ does. I am a part of everything, will be recycled into the greater universe, and I’m contributing in ways well beyond our individual understanding. You are at least super-sentient. Don’t look inward and compare yourself to what you are “supposed” to be or do, just observe. The world is in the process of metamorphosing and we are privileged to witness it (though sadly, the change will take us with it).
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I won’t offer advice because, yes, you already know what you need to do and you will eventually do it. I hope writing about your feelings helps. I do feel so much of what you describe. Sometimes I can laugh off the mysterious bruises on my arms and legs, sometimes not. Sometimes I can shrug off the low-level chronic pain of arthritis, sometimes not. Sometimes I can look at my naked figure in the mirror and say, “it’s okay.” Often, not.
After the deaths of my sisters and then my mom, and seeing how differently each of them prepared for that finality, I set out to make final arrangements for myself and my husband. One sister was in the process of making her will so, while it wasn’t completed, her family had a good idea of what she would want. She was a traditionalist, and they gave her the full service of wake, funeral and burial, complete with an open casket. My other sister did not leave a will. She preferred to think she would live forever. My brother arranged for her cremation and to have her ashes sent to New York (she lived in Florida). I arranged a headstone for her and her late husband.
My mom left a will and had prearranged her cremation and burial with a funeral home shortly after her second husband died. She didn’t want any services. Zip. Nothing. I think that bothered some people. One of my nephews talked about having some kind of gathering because he needed closure. Some cousins also talked about gathering, but I don’t think anything happened. Nobody wanted to involve my brother, least of me.
But, it was a relief that my mom had already made arrangements with the funeral home. So far, I’ve bought a plot near my sister Shirley, a plot for me and my husband. I still need to arrange a headstone (I keep forgetting to do that!). I know I don’t want any services per se, but I might arrange for a commitment ceremony. It’s kind of hard to know what to do because by the time I die, there may well be too few of my family still around. The whole point, for me, in doing any of this is so none of my family have to. (And when I say family, I mean my nephews, my sister’s sons. I don’t have any connection with my brother any more.)
I don’t know where I’m going to wind up. My husband doesn’t want to move. He feels he’s too old to start over someplace else, and he’s worked hard to make our property a little sanctuary. But I know that once he is gone, I’m not going to want to stay here. So that preoccupies me … often. To the point where we talk about getting a “vacation” home, a place I can go to if he dies before me.
I don’t like preparing for death. I don’t like trying to imagine what I might be like 10 years from now. I don’t like imagining what my husband might be like because he has more structural health issues than I do. And yet we have to prepare, if only for the sake of control.
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I really appreciate your response, Marie, and everything that you shared. I can feel so much of what you wrote about.
Aging brings so much, so many gifts, so many challenges. I think this is one of the hardest… (Since I keep putting it off….)
I had a friend years ago who wouldn’t even drive by cemeteries.
I appreciate you hearing from me, Marie. I offer you the same. And I send you many hugs across the miles. 💜
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To live well within a mortal life, sometimes takes a shed load of courage.
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Indeed it does.
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I hear that you are feeling sad…and honour you and you have my respect… Some of the stuff you are living through are not your run of the mill situations, but I admire that you are preparing for the inevitable and planning to continue with all you are doing. I hope the spark of joy may enliven you with moments of light. 💟
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Thank you, Morag, for your kind words. They bring some soothing energy in what is such a painful time in our country and in so many parts of the world.
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🤗💐💟
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