The Authentic Eclectic

The Two Forms of Death: One Known by Your Brain, the Other by Your Heart

Until further notice, death is inescapable

The timing of my grandfather’s death inconveniently interrupted my lunch. I was just 8 years old if I recall, but not much more than that. Many moons ago, before cell phones, the wall phone rang at my friend’s house where I had been invited to hang out, play, and have lunch. This was a big deal to me and may have been my first parent-free excursion in my memory. Her mom picked up the receiver and nervously twisted the coiled cord. After some proper hushed, “I’m so sorry” conversation, I was told I needed to go home. My mom was on her way to retrieve me even though it was the equivalent of a block away if I cut through yards.

The confusion was immediate but not concerning. I had walked there, though, so I did wonder about the abrupt change of plans. As my mom pulled up, she gently explained that my grandfather had died. I listened without absorbing.

But, what about my sandwich?

Why do I have to leave? Years later, I brought this incident up to my mom in a guilt-ridden apology that I had held in for a lifetime. Intellectually, I knew I was young when he passed away and had no understanding of the finality of death. And, as I got older, I cringed whenever I thought about how insensitive my reaction was to my mom, who had lost her father unexpectedly.

I had talked myself into and beaten myself up over the idea that I was selfish at the time, and my comment was unforgivable. My mom had no recall of my self-focused reaction at all.

I actually hadn’t looked back on this since I had achieved closure on my unfounded guilt. Once I was asked about death by The Garrulous Glaswegian, and when I first knew what it meant, years of memories flooded in.

I believe I never had an aha moment. It was a slow seeping absorption and a high-wire balancing act from my mind and soul.

My grandfather’s end was my toe in the door to understanding death, on a basic level. I would no longer see him, talk to him, or visit. My brain knew this. We didn’t live close enough for a tight bond to form. Struggle though I may, I cannot recall more than the pictures I see of him. My first understanding of death was quite cerebral. Matter of fact. Logical. My brain put the pieces together ~ we have a beginning, and we have an end. And then, one by one, my peers were suffering tragedies. A classmate who lived near me was killed in a car accident. Her sister had given her a ride to piano lessons. A simple drive they had done many times.

Daylight.

She never made it to high school. Her life was stopped and memorialized in middle school. The murmurs began that our Class of 1982 was jinxed.

A night of levity, with a group of friends in a car and a dead man’s curve, was an awful combination. Three of our classmates were killed instantly, and a fourth was left with machines keeping his physical body alive.

For years I stole glances at his house and wondered what it was like behind the walls. The addition they had built to house his hospital bed and equipment, was a glaring reminder of lost lives. I avoided the sanctity of their home when I rode my bike. They too, had life cut short and never saw their senior year of high school. My brain could not process these young deaths. They were all around us, and my brain wrestled with finding logical reasons. There were none. These deaths were processed by my heart. The deaths were tragic. Too young. My heart was bleeding in pain. The deaths kept coming. My cousin, who was on the brink of starting his own family, was killed while on a fishing trip. The best friends left behind two widows, one pregnant, both devastated. My heart handled this death.

Why? Why were they taken too soon? My brain would never get answers. As my heart healed, my acceptance of these deaths followed suit.

In one year, plus a bit, 3 of my close older relatives passed away. The family was disappearing. My brain understood why.

The frequency of deaths did not numb me. It did, however, teach me coping skills. So much tragedy can cripple some; some build inner resolve with the enhancement of insight. I learned early that we can’t feel guilty for resuming our lives.

Death, regardless of its actual meaning, taught me how to live.

And, life is truly for the living. We owe it to those who have passed to keep their earthly memories alive. Happiness is allowed to be ushered back in with enjoyment following. A miscarriage in the early weeks of my own pregnancy? I completely processed this in my brain. The baby was not to be. Either my womb or the fetus was not healthy enough to sustain a new life. I was much older when my brain and heart grabbed hands, shared the burden, and finally worked in concert. My father was sick. He had recently retired and began with all the stomach re-routings, biopsies, and general health inconveniences with no diagnosis. Until he finally got an answer. A devastating diagnosis that would fast-track his demise, though we prayed he would beat the odds. Pancreatic cancer. As his condition worsened, his body weakened until he was simply frail. My heart and my brain took turns holding the reins. During the day, my brain gave me the ability to understand the ravages of cancer, the odds against the patient. The dark of nights allowed my heart to quiver and cry. I was able to process the medical facts during the day, and start preparing my heart for the inevitable before he physically left our physical world. My grieving process started the minute I accepted his essence of life was gone. My heart hurt, and my brain pulled the broken pieces of it back together.

When his physical body took its last breath, my brain and heart recognized clearly that he needed to be in a better place.

I rely on His plan.

And so, I have come to terms that, at times, my brain will take charge to help me process the details surrounding death.

My heart will always question like a cross-examiner during a high-profile prosecution. Will I ever truly comprehend it? My understanding of death now comes down to one thing. It’s out of my control.

My death.

Yours.

Theirs. I rely on His plan.

My understanding of life evolved in conjunction with my understanding of death.

Carpe diem.

Seize the day. Give thanks upon awakening that you have been given another chance to live with love, laughter, and kindness.

And then, do it.