However we label it, death is inevitable—promised from the moment we are born. But when it comes close, when it touches our own circle, we pause. We reflect. And often, we wonder: What do I say? How do I show up for the dying?
Maybe we can think of 125 things Mom means to us—one for each day of this year so far—before we drift off under the Chicago sky, where city lights dim the stars.
I’m learning to live with a limp. I’m also learning to love as I limp.
Healthy sharing of pain is important and necessary, and is healthier still with self-awareness and mindfulness. Healthy sharing culminates in relieving, not reliving, the pain.
You can’t take it with you. But what if you could? What if the keeper of the gate allowed one personal carry on? What would you take with you?
As sunlight diminishes for the next 47 days, I hope you find the words, the moments with company, and enough light to hold you through the melancholy that comes, because, every November, melancholy comes.
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