Why
Am I not afraid of death? Is it because I have loved life so much and I have so many loves in my life?
Now, at this terminal time of my life, I see myself as though I was sitting at a train station with my granddaughter Vailia, my namesake, waiting for the train to arrive. A very slow train that we can see in the far distance moving very, very quietly toward us. We sit on a bench, hold hands and reminisce about who we are and what we’ve meant to each other.
We have had an incredible and wonderful relationship. One that few are privileged to receive. It’s as though there has been an uncut umbilical cord holding us together and allowing me to know when she is happy and when she is not. And in every case I feel just as she feels. It started when she was a tiny babe and would wake during the night crying and I would wake at the same moment, fifteen miles away from her, in my own bed. I recall waking one night and saying out load, “It’s alright, Baby, don’t cry”. I did check with my daughter the next morning and yes, a tiny Vailia had awakened the very moment I had and yes, she was crying.
One day, when she was working in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I was having a miserable day in San Diego. That evening I called her and asked what kind of a day she had. “I’ve been miserable, Granny,” she answered, “Everything has gone wrong today and I’ve been unhappy and sad all day long.”
That was the time I replied, “Vailia, you just have to stop this. I don’t want to go around feeling like that all day.”
With these remarks, we both laughed because this was just one of our many, many times that we have connected completely. So I was not surprised when a very unhappy Vailia called me from her mother’s home, in Snowflake, Arizona, and told me how badly she felt that she could not come to see me. (Living and working in Canada had only allowed her a short visit). San Diego was simply too far. I had no problem with her not coming, but I did have a thought that I felt was important to share with her.
“Darling,” I said, “it’s alright. I understand and I’m not unhappy about it. But I do have one thought that you need to hear…and accept… It is that if I should die two days after you’ve left, I want you to promise not to feel any guilt about coming here to see me. You’re not coming is right and if it helps, I’m sending you back to where you need to be. That is my choice. Now, Promise.”
A promise in my family is written in stone. So when she replied, “Granny, I can’t.” I needed to explain to her that I know many people do feel guilt at the death of a loved one. It’s self-inflicted, as though you hadn’t said enough, felt enough, cared enough, and what it does is diminish the relationship that was. No one goes through a perfect life. No one has said something they wish they hadn’t. No one has neglected someone they love without good reason.
“So, my Love,” I said to her, “we have had the most wonderful, caring relationship in the world. Would you choose to forget the wonder of it and feel guilty about some unimportant thing? Keep it sweet, My Darling. Mourn if you must…feel guilt you must not. Now I want my promise.”
I received the promise, and I so deeply wish that my precious children and family and friends will remember these words:
Now, at this terminal time of my life, I see myself as though I was sitting at a train station with my granddaughter Vailia, my namesake, waiting for the train to arrive. A very slow train that we can see in the far distance moving very, very quietly toward us. We sit on a bench, hold hands and reminisce about who we are and what we’ve meant to each other.
We have had an incredible and wonderful relationship. One that few are privileged to receive. It’s as though there has been an uncut umbilical cord holding us together and allowing me to know when she is happy and when she is not. And in every case I feel just as she feels. It started when she was a tiny babe and would wake during the night crying and I would wake at the same moment, fifteen miles away from her, in my own bed. I recall waking one night and saying out load, “It’s alright, Baby, don’t cry”. I did check with my daughter the next morning and yes, a tiny Vailia had awakened the very moment I had and yes, she was crying.
One day, when she was working in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I was having a miserable day in San Diego. That evening I called her and asked what kind of a day she had. “I’ve been miserable, Granny,” she answered, “Everything has gone wrong today and I’ve been unhappy and sad all day long.”
That was the time I replied, “Vailia, you just have to stop this. I don’t want to go around feeling like that all day.”
With these remarks, we both laughed because this was just one of our many, many times that we have connected completely. So I was not surprised when a very unhappy Vailia called me from her mother’s home, in Snowflake, Arizona, and told me how badly she felt that she could not come to see me. (Living and working in Canada had only allowed her a short visit). San Diego was simply too far. I had no problem with her not coming, but I did have a thought that I felt was important to share with her.
“Darling,” I said, “it’s alright. I understand and I’m not unhappy about it. But I do have one thought that you need to hear…and accept… It is that if I should die two days after you’ve left, I want you to promise not to feel any guilt about coming here to see me. You’re not coming is right and if it helps, I’m sending you back to where you need to be. That is my choice. Now, Promise.”
A promise in my family is written in stone. So when she replied, “Granny, I can’t.” I needed to explain to her that I know many people do feel guilt at the death of a loved one. It’s self-inflicted, as though you hadn’t said enough, felt enough, cared enough, and what it does is diminish the relationship that was. No one goes through a perfect life. No one has said something they wish they hadn’t. No one has neglected someone they love without good reason.
“So, my Love,” I said to her, “we have had the most wonderful, caring relationship in the world. Would you choose to forget the wonder of it and feel guilty about some unimportant thing? Keep it sweet, My Darling. Mourn if you must…feel guilt you must not. Now I want my promise.”
I received the promise, and I so deeply wish that my precious children and family and friends will remember these words:
Mourn if you must….Feel guilt you must not…Treasure what has been ours to share.
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