About a month ago, I went to a funeral. It was an event that was in some ways unfamiliar to me since it had been nearly a decade since I’d last attended one. And while I did shed some tears, because death (and life) can be emotional at times, ultimately I found myself extremely grateful to have been in attendance.
Throughout the service, friends and family stood at the podium to share their memories of the deceased. One by one they flipped through pages of a book begun over half a century ago. The book had filled with chapters bursting with challenges, laughter, love, good times and bad. They each spoke of the woman’s dedication to her community, devotion to her family, her matter-of-fact, tell-it-like-it-was demeanor, her quick wit and the joy she shared with others through her love of cooking. And each could tell these stories of her life because she had allowed them to be a part of it – all characters, in a sense, in her creation of her personal history.
And while no one spoke of regret, only of her deliberateness towards living life, I thought about how many of us might consider altering our own story if we could but take a moment to read our own pages; our stories as they exist at this very moment. If we could see how the world or the space in which we physically reside is changed because of our presence. If we could catch a glimpse of the legacy we are on track to leave behind, would we make a conscious decision to re-examine our life-in-progress? Would we adjust where we fall short?
Death, for sure, is a mindfulness check. It is an opportunity for reflection on our own lives – about what we are doing from one moment to the next to connect to the world in which we live. More often than not, I believe that we don’t take note of the impact of our story. Many, likely give no thought to it at all. Foregoing the examination of whether or not our actions or deeds make our lives or the lives of others more joyous, meaningful, or connected.
I must admit that along with the stories of others, I also thought about my own story. To be clear, it's not always easy. As a matter of fact it can be downright hard to make yourself vulnerable - to open your heart to people, to life, and to the world when past experiences have required the construction of walls. Walls that keep you imprisoned and everyone else on the outside. Sure, you may feel protected momentarily. But there is a risk when you allow yourself to stay in that place for too long. When you hide yourself away, people can not see who you are and you run the risk of existing in the world without relationships that are deep and connected.
We are all books bound at the seams and of many pages. We are living journals of our daily lives. The story each of us tells can be one of openness and sharing or of recoil and distrust. I want to leave this world having been seen and being a part of. I want people to remember who I was. I have no illusion that everything that is remembered or said about me will be flattering, as a life lived is never perfect. It is a life lived.
I urge you to consider, what the story is that you will leave behind? What will people read in the pages of your life? Are you an open book - sharing yourself and your gifts? Or, are you one that is closed – with no light falling on your pages because you are not willing to be vulnerable and share who you are?
As at then end of a book, in death, there is sadness and perhaps some regret. But there is also a space for joy and gratefulness for the opportunity to have read the story and lived the life. There is what is left behind - the beauty of a life lived. The beauty of a story that is told in bold images, “matter of fact” words, moments, gestures, acts of kindness and pure joy, that connects us to others. In effect, weaving your lives into theirs and allowing our story to continue.