Interlude: Everything I've Ever Done Has Ended
"To live well is to grieve well"
I’m uncomfortable with the impermanence of the human experience. I always have been. Ever since I was a child, I’ve found myself torn apart by happy moments, bewildered by the full-body realization that since the moment is happening, it’s already halfway through its metamorphosis into a memory.
But more than bewilderment, there’s been a simmering frustration. Because why do good things need to end? How are we collectively accepting “that’s just the way it is” as an answer?
My grandfather has come to the end of his life. Rather, his life has ended.
Like every dawn, that realization came up slowly at first and then quickly illuminated everything around it.
He was mostly accepting of and ready for it, especially since my grandmother’s passing a few years ago.
“Life just isn’t as fun without Annie,” he’d said more than once.
Still, there’s a certain sadness and pain in the realization that your body has taken you as far as it can.
But there were also moments of anger and agitation. “Terminal restlessness” is what the professionals call it.
I can’t help but think that anger is a fitting emotion.
We’re told that the proof of a life well-lived is a peaceful surrender at its culmination - that when we reach the end, we’ll be ready, filled with gratitude and fond memories. And I do hope that’s truly the stuff of the final breath.
And yet, life is all we’ve ever known. Why can’t we be at least somewhat enraged to be parting with it?
It’s a mathematical truth that we simply don’t have enough time to do everything. Most things will, in fact, be left unexperienced. Why can’t we be livid at what’s left unfinished?
Our last days are a period of grieving the world we’re exiting.
“Life is a prolonged farewell. Grief is the process that finishes things. The end of grief work is to be born again. So to live well is to grieve well.” - John Bradshaw, Healing the Shame that Binds You
Anger is only the second stage of grief. And even though the stages are the farthest thing from linear, we need them all to reach the other side.
Every time I lose someone, I’m angry at the impermanence of it all. I’m angry at the moments that have become memories. I’m angry at everything that remains undone.
Most of all, I’m angry that I’m being forced to say goodbye.
But if I’m angry then I’m grieving and if I’m grieving then I’m living.
A life well-lived is one the world is outraged to see end.