tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876613.post3428769432369457165..comments2023-11-20T10:17:40.928+00:00Comments on Good in Parts: Intimations of mortalityKathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09171138485811816831noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876613.post-12540390822882639712009-05-22T19:43:14.869+01:002009-05-22T19:43:14.869+01:00I can't remember thinking I could answer many of m...I can't remember thinking I could answer many of my parents' struggles, though "no, not like THAT" was certainly foremost in my mind for a long time. <br /><br />I don't know when I learned about death. I'm not sure how real it seems to me; most of the people I have lost in my life were people I didn't keep in touch with when we moved from one city to another. Many of them are surely dead now, but far more are presumably still alive and I sometimes entertain the hope of seeing some of these ghosts again... of course the ones I've found on FaceB0rg are not the same ones that I spent months writing letters to as a teenager, getting no replies (with one notable exception) and wondering if they had ever cared at all. But there have never been bodies, graves, physical markers for me to visit. I had some of my grandfather's ashes for a long time; I've replaced them with sand from beside the lake where his and my grandmother's ashes were scattered, and whenever I start a new garden a small pinch of that sand goes in. I'm not sure how much that's about my grandfather and how much it's about a little tiny piece of somewhere that was, sort of, home. <br /><br />I have spent hideous amounts of time thinking the world would be better off if it did just carry on without me, and even wishing that would be so. I'm glad now that I was always too apathetic to really do anything about it.<br /><br />I've also spent a lot of time anxious and frantic because there just doesn't seem to be enough lifetime to do everything I want to do, learn everything I want to learn, teach everything I want to teach. Even if I were quicker on the uptake, even if I had several lifetimes, I don't think I could ever take in all the shinyness of the world, pass on all the truth I want to pass on, heal all the hurts that cry out to be healed. The work I do is to enjoy things, create things, show such things to others and, hopefully, in doing so communicate just how shiny the world is and how beloved are the creatures in it. I can't clearly imagine that work being done, finished; heaven on earth is too big a concept for me to grasp with any bit of my brain except the bit that sings, and then only sometimes.<br /><br />I don't think we have to be cowed by death, ruled by fear of it, to acknowledge the reality of it.Song in my Hearthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13108400300327113931noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876613.post-91309365656307655802009-05-22T18:06:55.612+01:002009-05-22T18:06:55.612+01:00Thank you, Kathryn. Profound - and profoundly hum...Thank you, Kathryn. Profound - and profoundly human. For me too, this is a privileged part of ministry, but I also struggle with the professional detachment / self-preservation issue. <br /><br />HS's question and HG's observations are illuninating too. <br /><br />Every blessing, as you carry on making a difference.Chrishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12651859378584593344noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876613.post-48285899486657545472009-05-22T13:56:53.041+01:002009-05-22T13:56:53.041+01:00Hi, thanks for stopping by and saying nice things ...Hi, thanks for stopping by and saying nice things about my post. <br /><br />I'm pretty scared of dying. It seems remote to me because I can't imagine not having a consciousness. The process scares me because I've seen how it can be, when my mother died. And hers was a relatively peaceful death. But the potential suffering is frightening. Saying goodbye to others and knowing that I won't be part of all the wonderful and painful things that happen to them is heartbreaking.<br /><br />An afterlife isn't something I can imagine, either. I guess all I can imagine is the sorrow of parting.Bad Alicehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04540577363786819292noreply@blogger.com