Facing Mortality: How a Book and a Phone Call Changed My Perspective on Life
I’ve been thinking a lot about death and dying a lot lately.
Morbid?
Maybe.
But also real.
There’s a saying: no one makes it out of this world alive.
There’s another saying: the global death rate is 100%.
I’ll back up for a sec.
I’ve been flying solo for the past 5 days.
My husband has been on the East Coast spending time with his son and granddaughters.
Cooper Mack (our goldendoodle) and I have been holding the fort at home.
In my husband’s absence, I’ve had quiet time alone to be in my own energy, to be still.
No TV.
No music.
Just me and my energy.
Yesterday, I get a phone call from a dear friend.
She calls to share that someone we both know is dying.
You should know, I’m usually pretty good with death.
I know the human spirit goes on, after the body has gone.
I’ve communicated with the dead for most of my life.
I helped my mother-in-law cross over.
Even still, the news just hit differently.
Meanwhile, I’ve been reading In Five Years, by Rebecca Serle.
Spoiler alert: One of the main characters develops cancer and eventually, dies.
So last night, Cooper’s snoozing at the foot of the bed and I’m up late, reading.
I want to finish the book before Mack returns from his trip tomorrow. And tbh staying up late, reading, has always been one of my favorite things.
As I’m reading, I come to the turning point, where there’s a deep realization and connection between the protagonist and the character, her friend who’s dying.
Suddenly, my whole body releases an audible sob, and I find myself saying aloud to myself. as though to remind myself of the truth of our humanity, mine and yours.
“Everyone is going to die. Everyone.”
It’s quiet in my bedroom as I reflect, settle myself, and continue reading.
A chapter or two later, I’m openly crying.
Of course for the characters, but also for me, and for my friends, my sisters.
All of us.
The story evokes deep grief in me, leaving me crying and raw.
I put my hand on my heart, and say again, aloud the truth of it.
”Everyone is going to die. Everyone.”
And then the wise and ancient part of myself, my spirit, speaks.
”Yes, everyone is going to die.
Everyone.
And I can no longer give myself over to superficial things.”
Afterwards, the book complete, sleep is elusive.
I rise from my bed and pad barefoot across the darkened house to my sweet, quiet office where I settle into my chair, open my journal, take pen in hand, and begin:
I write:
I don’t know what this means for my business, but I do know that I’m different, I can no longer give myself over to superficial things.
I can only be real.
I can no longer give myself over to superficial things.
It has to be true.
It has to be beautiful.
It has to be love.
It has to matter.
And then I realize this:
For much of my life, I’d been afraid somehow, to truly anchor in, to become fully invested in my life, in life, in the most real and true way possible.
To anchor in.
To own this life. My life.
Soon my writing is complete and I return to bed, still restless but eventually sleep comes.
__________________________
This morning as I write, I know it’s true:
I don’t know what this means for my business or for what’s next in my life.
But I do know that the things that matter are the most important things.
I do know that I’m different.
And maybe after reading this, you are, too.
Leave a 🖤 below if you can relate.