The Five Remembrances

How a practice on Death brings Soul to life; and life to Soul. Maybe it would have served Dad well. It’s his Eldering now, regardless. And we should receive it with gratitude.

Special Note: I had a completely different Post queued up for this week, but the events of this week, all over the globe, made that post seem tone-deaf. So last night, I pulled it back. I was tired last night; I’ve been tired. The world’s energy right now is draining mine. So instead of attempting a new creation, I looked back at the list of drafts I started but haven’t finished. I found this one dated November 2022. Oddly, I think it fits our current timeline; I’d be curious if you thought so too.

This post speaks of my dad, who, at the time, was alive and living with us as I served as his 24/7 caregiver through his dementia, Parkinson’s, dying, and ultimate death. I share a brief update at the very end.

Death doesn’t have to mean darkness. In Death, there can be light. But you have to remember. Then choose. It can become, perhaps should become, one of our most important practices. To ease our way. It is also THE primary role Elders play in our lives—to teach us the ways of life and death.

A couple weeks ago, I included the poem “Learning from Trees” by Grace Butcher in a Dying Wiser post:

Dying Wiser #9–Eldering Trees

I want to include her first stanza here again to place something important in stark relief—an Eldering, if you will, from one of the “I-didn’t-do-it-but-maybe-now-I-wish-I-did” archives from my Dad.

Learning from Trees
~ Grace Butcher

If we could,
like the trees,
practice dying,
do it every year
just as something we do— 
like going on vacation
or celebrating birthdays—
it would become
as easy a part of us
as our hair or clothing.

---

“If we could practice dying, do it every year….”

Yes.

And we should. Not for any benefit necessarily we’d get “in the moments of the practice itself,” but rather for when we’ll need it the most—and at that time, and only that time, we’ll perhaps come to fully understand just how important the practice truly was.

Most faith traditions do this as part of their liturgy, or dogma, or teachings. At some point during the year, there is an honoring of death. Growing up Catholic, we did this for the 40 days of Lent leading up to Christ’s Passion, Crucifixion, Death, and Resurrection. And even as I served as an alter boy, and performed, along with the priest, the Friday’s Stations of the Cross during many Lental seasons, I never looked at the ritual of Christ’s death as a practice let alone that it was relevant to my own life. Then, for me, it was just what we Catholics did to remember an important part (duh) in the life of Jesus Christ. It was about Jesus—not me. Sadly, I never made the connection. I was never taught to make the connection—the connection it should have been to bridge transcendence. All along, it was about me…about you…about us. But not in the superficial ways of just words and stories from the bible and from the Catholic liturgy.

It also never landed with me the true depth of meaning it should have had when, on Ash Wednesday, and during the placing of palm ashes on my forehead, the priest recited “Thou art dust and to dust thou shall return.”

I no sooner left the church following those services to forget the lessons of death in order to return to regular scheduled programming—eg My Life! My life, that is, without an appreciation for what a death practice could have offered to me all those years of being an active Catholic. I was never taught to view death as a practice. It was “just” a story that was about someone else. Maybe the teachings were there and all the priests, nuns, and catechism teachers tried, but like anything when it comes to teaching and learning, if the student didn’t learn it such that it changed their life in some meaningful way, then maybe it was never taught.

For me, now, things are different. I’ve been Eldered, not just by Dad, but by others as well who have influenced my life and pending death in ways I cannot yet describe—because the death part, my death part, hasn’t been lived yet. I realized this a number of years before this past summer when Dad joined us. Having Dad with us now to better serve his life and death is actually one of my selfish reasons for providing him with care—I get to bear witness to something sacred in a very personal way that I have faith will serve me well when it is time for me to die. I’m doing it through Dad’s lived example—and now I get it. NOW I see the importance of the practice so that “it becomes as easy a part of us as our hair or clothing.” But so much more important.

Dad’s death isn’t a just a story he’s writing every day—it’s a way of life now. And we, those he’s Eldering me, are being offered a practice to practice—and like any practice’s purpose, we do it to improve our chances for a smooth path, a clear sky, calm winds, a favorable outcome, or[ a closer approximation of excellence.

It is one of the core teachings or practices of Buddhism: The Five Remembrances:

Part of my own Sunday Zen meditation practice now, since I no longer attend Mass, and among the devotionals I’ve created for myself as I practice Zen, is this core practice on Death. Every week I consciously surface Death as the presence it always is for all of us—most people, however, choose to not look Death’s way even though it is always…just…right…there. Just a few steps beyond that horizon right in front of us—an horizon we get closer to with each passing minute. Contemplating Death with reverence and awe is said to pave the way to a wise, authentic, and meaningful Death at the end of our days. For certain, it demystifies and enlightens it. I’m hoping that by reading about Dad, you are allowing glimpses into your own mortality. (‘Cuz, spoiler alert: you’re gonna die!)

About that “allowing” part; “allowing” glimpses.

It’s an active choice, that allowing.

I can say this with certainty about this practice for me: It has changed my life. Every Sunday, in quiet meditation:

(Breathing in): This body is of the nature to grow old.

(Breathing out): There is no way to escape growing older.

(In): This body is of the nature to have ill-health.

(Out): There is no way to escape having ill-health.

(In): This body is of the nature to die.

(Out): There is no way to escape death.

(In): All that I have, and everything that is dear to me is of the nature to change.

(Out): There is no way to escape being separated from them.

(In): My actions are my only true belongings; I cannot escape the consequences of my actions.

(Out): My actions are the foundation upon which I live this authentic life and death.

The Five Remembrances practice is meant to sever our attachment to life so that we “remember” individual lives end, and with that inevitability, there need be no suffering. Our life will end as will that of every single one of our loved ones. Why do we fight that? Why do we do everything possible, spend any amount, travel any distance, take any drug, to prolong it—life, even when it is no longer a life—when doing so doesn’t prolong life, it only prolongs dying?

Because we don’t want to let go. Because when we let go, we don’t know what happens next. And some might think that is something to be feared.

What if there is nothing to fear then?

I firmly believe our purpose in life is in service to helping others through it, to walk each other home, to serve each other in our own “letting go;” we all have roles to play—important roles in another’s living and dying.

Every day I think about Dad’s quality of life. And every day I’m confronted with thinking about Dad’s quality of dying.

An aside for levity: Deepak Chopra shares that life is a “sexually transmitted, incurable condition.”

Life is also a terminal condition; our birth assured us that our bodies are going to die. In our culture, because we really don’t “do death” well, billions of dollars are spent every year by people seeking to avoid even the mere appearance of death. Pharmaceutical companies, cosmetic companies, and even some medical professionals BANK on this fact of human folly that we will do everything in our power, and visit any doctor, and take any drug, and apply any cosmetic, and endure any unnecessary procedure, to avoid the inevitable consequence of life. Old age is no longer anything to be proud of—because we hide, and complain, about so much of it. And so much is lost because of that. Not the least of which is the opportunity it is to Elder those following in our footsteps.

Practicing The Five Remembrances, sincerely, allows me to hold on to life “lightly;” to suffer less; to appreciate more; to welcome in wonder and awe; and to come to understand the ONLY thing that is ours in this entire world, over our entire lifetime, is the wake we leave behind us—the consequences of our actions—as we navigate the waters called life.

“The effect you have on others is the most powerful currency there is.”

~ Jim Carrey

Having Dad here with us has cemented some of these Remembrances further into my Soul and psyche. But because this practice is not Dad’s, and as we remember he had no Elder to elder him in the ways of living and dying, Dad’s Elder example through the Five Remembrances serve as a stark contrast to the possibility the rest of us have to adopt practices such as this to ease our own paths toward our own deaths—with less suffering. That’s supposed to be one of the major things Elders are meant to teach us.

So, in turn with the Five Remembrances through my Dad’s Elder lens:

Breathing in…

On getting older: Dad is reminded every minute of his waking life that he cannot do what he was once able to do. Dad fights his own aging (a fight no one ever wins)—that he questions his medications and wants to now see doctors for every ailment, or stop taking a medicine because it has a certain side effect, or to get a new medicine to ease a certain effect, is proof he hasn’t accepted how his body changes as he ages. “There’s gotta be a cure or a pill for this!” is something he believes will stop or deny the aging process. Needless to say, he hasn’t aged as gracefully as he could have.

But we could.

On having ill-health: Though mentally he still functions well much of the time (though these times themselves are diminishing like the grains that drop through an hourglass), dementia, Parkinson’s, and other ailments (strains, aches, bowel issues, edema, skin conditions) will ultimately win out—heck, they are winning now. And he fights against this. And he suffers for it. He is often confused and cannot connect how his body often feels with the larger chronic diseases of his diagnoses so he wants to blame the drugs he’s on, get new drugs, or see new doctors. This causes him to suffer existentially. I don’t believe he’s in much or any pain; but gosh can he suffer! Dad never learned that pain is inevitable in life; but suffering is always, ALWAYS, optional and in our own control. Even though I truly believe he was a stoic as we were growing up—a man who rarely was sick and rarely needed doctors—Dad never learned how not to suffer in preparation for his dying.

But we can learn.

On dying and death: Unless you are a weed or aphid or green larvae, especially in one of Dad’s fields, farmers keep things alive! Dad never contemplated death and until recently, we had avoided even conversations about it. Mom’s death really threw Dad for a loop—because it was so sudden and everyone kind of assumed it was going to be mom who outlived Dad. But, oddly or ironically, Dad knows that when he dies, he wishes to have his cremated remains placed in the same urn as mom’s. And the stone monument that marks my mom’s place in the Holy Rosary Cemetery in Moxee already has HIS name and birthday on it—awaiting only his deathday. We started those important conversations with Dad as we prepared for mom’s funeral. And yet the fact of paradox remains: Dad is scared of Death while at the same time praying to God to “take me already! Why aren’t you taking me Lord?”

But we don’t have to fear death.

On all that we have and everything dear to us: This Remembrance incudes our loved ones. Here is where Dad is perhaps better at Eldering—here was a man who managed close to 300 acres of farmland, with multiple tractors, trucks, farm implements, a home, cars, garages, kilns, pets, a family, a wife. Here was a man who had stuff. Lots of stuff and much of it was expensive—keeping a farm running well doesn’t happen on the cheap. Nowadays, he possesses only a few shirts, some pants and shorts, some shoes (though he rarely wears them anymore—so he really no longer needs even them), a pair of sunglasses (a MUST have!), a hat (also a MUST have), and his walker. It is a tenet of Zen wisdom that “as we get older, we get rid of things.” The goal of Zen, if it can be said to have a goal (‘cuz it can’t), is to realize emptiness. Dad is relatively content being in the moment with the few possessions he doesn’t always realize he has…anyway. Maybe it’s a part of his dementia but Dad really doesn’t seem to miss a whole lot of stuff.

And neither should we.

On actions as true belongings: Here is where Dad nails the Eldering teaching inherent in The Remembrances. Dad lived a life of kindness, hard work, dedication, temperance, selflessness, and persistence. Dad built the strongest of foundations, through his lived actions, from which he was able to live his authentic life (just not yet his death). Because of his bearing in life, how he calibrated his True North compass, his way of being through his actions, he becomes a stellar example for others to emulate, admire, and aspire to. (Even as I know I will never reach the pinnacle he set, it remains, still, an aspiration of mine. A part of my life practice.)

And so we should.

…breathing out.

The Five Remembrances remind us we are Spiritual beings on human journeys (not the other way around). And they are journeys that, in the grand scheme of it all, really don’t last long.

Until the next journey begins.

Ram Dass used to say that when he arrived on Earth (ie “was born”), he was given a spacesuit in which he could travel this thing called “his life.” And at the end of that journey, after several refittings of that spacesuit, he’d return it from which it came to become free once again—unencumbered from all the ills and attachments and desires inherent in a human body.

I really like that spacesuit image. Mainly because it’s true. We are meant to discard our well-travelled, well-live-in spacesuits at the point in time where they fail us: in other words, when they are no longer needed.

In Dad, I have an Elder who gives weight, a daily gravity, to the Five Remembrances—through Dad, I see (him, me, all life) “getting older;” I see ill health; I see Dying soon to be Death; I see belongings no longer mattering; and I see that actions, through Dad’s way of being when he was younger, and yet still through his innate kindness, truly do set the foundation for a life of meaning.

The Five Remembrances also remind us we are Souls that transcend time and space—as Souls, we are boundless and eternal and should care a little less about the inconsequential material things of “this life.” On Ash Wednesday, we Catholics are reminded: Thou art from dust and to dust thou shall return. The Church got that right.

And our Souls live on.

An original:

toss the coin

heads or tails?
tails and heads.
it’s the same coin after all.

life or death?
death and life.
same thing.
truly.

whether you flip it or toss it
it doesn’t matter.
it doesn’t matter at all
whether it comes up heads
or tails.
whether it comes up life
or death.
it doesn’t matter.
it is the same coin.
and the ending is always the same. 

flip the coin to land on heads
and tails is always right underneath.
every time. 
born onto this world as life
and death forever looms at some unknown future.
right underneath,
every time,
for each of us;
it is the same coin.

trying to have one over the other,
you try to split the coin in half to have only one half. 
you’ll want heads,
you want life.
but
it’s impossible.
you can’t have only the heads,
you don’t get only the life.
tails tail along 
and death always accompanies life
(and you know this). 
it is the same coin.

you have options, 
there is light;
what matters is what you are in full control of,
whether that be coin tossing
or life living.

although the coin holds both
and solidly,
what matters is
how high you toss it.

toss yours high now
and be proud of its flight.

just don’t catch it. 

Update: Current Day. My dad lived four additional months from the time the Post above was written. Over that time, dad’s dying and death practice deepened—as did mine. We grew closer together as he grew to be able to do less and less with his body. A body that ultimately shut itself down on March 15, 2023. My dad had no idea how to die, and that scared him. But, his body knew. Our bodies have this innate wisdom deep with us. As his death approached, we put more and more faith into that wisdom. And we were richly rewarded—we, in my family, say with well-deserved pride we were a part of giving dad a very beautiful death. A dying and death free from pain and, in the very end, free from suffering. My wife, my brother and I were holding my dad’s hands when he breathed his last. Grief did arrive, but not fear. My dad’s death was poignant, simple, quiet, and upon reflection, indeed beautiful

It was the Eldering I needed, and that we all deserve.

---

Always and Ubuntu,

~ k

🙏🏼💙