"a patient willing descent into the grass": A Reflection on Death

"Day by day remind yourself that you are going to die." ~Rule of Benedict, 4:47 (RB 1980 translation)

Last evening I spoke on the phone with my aged mother who lives in a distant state. She updated me, as always, on the details of her daily existence. But along with the mundane was the news that yet another of her oldest friends has passed away. I have received similar news from her multiple times in recent years. My mother was fortunate to have belonged to a group of friends from her teenage years, who kept in touch all their lives, no matter the distance in miles between them, nor the time passed since they had seen each other face to face. I don't know the exact number in the group, but it was in the 8 to 10 range, I think. I think these life long friendships are one of the things that made my mother into the champion letter writer that I have always known her to be. If you receive a letter from my mother, you can count on it being several pages in length. Being of a certain age and habit, she still writes long letters faithfully...an almost dead art in this age of e-mail and text messaging, neither of which my aged mother knows much about nor would she care to....

So I have heard this particular sadness in her voice before. But if anything, last night it was even more poignant. "It's only your Aunt V. and me now," she said. My Aunt V. was also in this same group of friends. The inevitability of her coming death is something that my mother lives with every day. She hardly needs to hear St. Benedict's admonition above, given to the monks of his monastery, and passed on for centuries to their spiritual descendants in his "Rule for Monks."

Is it only upon reaching "middle age" that most of us really begin to think about the reality of our own death? When we wake up one day and realize that barring accident or disease (which, of course, can take anyone at any age)--were we to live out a life of "normal" longevity--we have now passed a point...we are closer to our graves than to our cradles.

I'm certainly no stranger to such ponderings. Ironically perhaps (but not surprisingly really, if you stop to think about it) such "reflection on death" actually makes one think very deeply and intentionally about one's life. When a realization of the universal truth of one's coming death hits home (as we seldom allow it to?), one tends to examine the trajectory of one's life more carefully.... If all goes well, I may have X years left...how shall I then live? And this is exactly the sort of sober introspection--about one's life--that Benedict meant to inspire in his monks. As an aside of sorts, I should probably mention here that although I am no longer an adherent to their religion (or to any "religion" for that matter), I remain deeply indebted to the Benedictines for my education, not simply for a degree earned in their institution, but for the lessons in a thoughtful, contemplative, and deeply environmentally and locally conscious life in community that I imbibed from my years of association with them. And honestly, while I have little time for most things "Christian" anymore (and neither offense nor disrespect is meant to any believers who read this), the Benedictines retain my deepest respect.

But back to reflecting upon death.... Recently I have begun to have other thoughts about death and it's inevitability. It is not only ourselves who will die. It is all who are dear to us. I think my mother's phone call last night drove home that obvious (yet elusive?) truth... And in fact, it is not only all who are dear to us that will die. It is everything that is dear to us.... Yes, I think so. At the very least, I find this to be true in my own life.

There is more that I could say here today about this, but I think I'll leave it right there for now. Perhaps I'll revisit these thoughts in another post, a "part two." No guarantees though. The words come when they come (as was alluded to in a couple of previous posts and their comment threads especially) and remain silent when they remain in the silence. At least I will try to live by that....

All things arise, bloom and grow, and then wither and pass away. All things.

All things. I am increasingly at peace with this....Once again, I don't know anyone who has said what is closest to my heart and mind on a matter better than Mr. Berry (and for the umpteenth time such that perhaps you tire of him here....), and so, I close with his reflections. I have bolded the last line, and it is what I have titled this post. A patient willing descent into the grass. And may I leave no trace save one.

The Wish to Be Generous
Wendell Berry

All that I serve will die, all my delights,
the flesh kindled from my flesh, garden and field,
the silent lilies standing in the woods,
the woods, the hill, the whole earth, all
will burn in man's evil, or dwindle
in its own age. Let the world bring on me
the sleep of darkness without stars, so I may know
my little light taken from me into the seed
of the beginning and the end, so I may bow
to mystery, and take my stand on the earth
like a tree in a field, passing without haste
or regret toward what will be, my life
a patient willing descent into the grass.