What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind,
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be,
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering,
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
—Excerpt from Ode to Immortality by William Wordsworth
Memorial Day is an important holiday here in America—where, as a nation, we tend to remember in love. Certainly we do so, as we remember the ultimate sacrifice of those who have given their lives in war and peace-keeping missions around the world.
This is also a time to call to mind all those loved ones who have gone before us. To consider how we hold our memories of them and to venture a bit deeper into recollection to look through death with a philosophic mind.
When people approach the end of their lives a number of very important questions arise at some point in that journey:
- How do I wish to be remembered?
- Was I a good person?
- How will others remember me?
- Did my life have meaning?
We can ask ourselves the same questions today. And we can answer them for those who have not yet left us by telling them what they have meant to us. It all has to do with communication.
“Have I told you lately that I love you?”
How many times of late have we heard people urge one another to go home and hug their family members—often after some catastrophe has ripped entire communities apart forever.
One unique way to share our mutual appreciation is from the movie Get Low in which a hermit decides to throw himself a pre-funeral because he wants to know what people are going to say about him. The results are life-changing for many.
The point is to say the nice things now. Leave nothing unsaid. That was the blessing for two of my friends in the UK. He was a management-training colleague of mine who died suddenly in his hotel room in London. His wife had sent him off to teach and he never came back.
She later told me that one consolation for her was that there was nothing unsaid between them. When a disagreement came up, they worked it out. That didn’t make her miss him any less, but it did mean that she had no doubts or regrets about their relationship.
The fact that they engaged in an ongoing process of communication and reflection about their marriage is what allows her to say, “I will always carry him in my heart. Yes, it hurts that he is gone, but my life is so much richer because I knew and loved him.”
Of course, the best memories are the ones of love and appreciation, of resolution and integration with the essence of those who have gone on. As long as they are alive in our hearts, they can always be with us.
Some people say they want closure, but, to me, that indicates a desire to simply make the memory go away. In reality, if a person has been dear to us, why would we want to be rid of their memory, even if it makes us cry?
At the end of the current Broadway musical Peter and the Starcatcher (a prequel to the story of Peter Pan) Wendy must return home to England while Peter must remain behind in Neverland with the other Lost Boys. He is crying, “It hurts so bad.”
And Wendy—a very wise little girl—replies, “It’s supposed to hurt. That’s how you know it was important.”
So rather than pushing the hurt away, I think what we are looking for is meaning, resolution of stressful feelings, and the eventual easing of sorrow.
Many people also look for forgiveness—and one of the most powerful ways that it is often achieved at the end of life is when the dying and/or those who will survive them can engage in this Ritual of Forgiving. It consists of four short statements (taken from The Four Things That Matter Most by Ira Byock):
- I’m sorry
- Please forgive me
- Thank you
- I love you
When I consider the philosophic mind that Wordsworth wrote about I think of it as a reflective voice that speaks from the heart. I find it particularly useful in determining how we choose to hold the memories of those we may not have been able to engage in this ritual.
For example, you can complete the ritual by using these statements in a letter that you write to someone who has been gone for many years. It is equally powerful to do for the living, especially if your current relationship is strained.
Don’t mail the letter; just learn from what you write. The point is to get your thoughts and feelings on paper where you can reflect upon them. They may even inspire you with a way to resume the conversation in love and compassion.
Deciding that a memory is happy or sad does nothing to move us forward in our own path of self-discovery. Unless we can identify what a memory means and then learn something from it, we may lose the blessing that even a challenging memory can bring.
This weekend I would like to suggest that we ask ourselves these questions about at least one person whom we choose to remember:
- What have I learned from this person?
- What did our relationship mean to me
- How I am holding that memory?
- Is it moving me forward or holding me back?
Even difficult memories can be valuable if we use them as a springboard for personal growth and insight. If they lead us to greater compassion, the experience was not in vain.
But to get to that point of resolution we may need to follow the person’s story back through their life. In the context of their environment and life events, does their behavior make sense as the best they could do at the time? Understanding the mental and emotional constructs that produce events that were challenging for us can lead to a more compassionate perspective.
And here we are talking about compassion for ourselves as well as for others. It is not unreasonable to suggest that we may have played a part in the creation of our own troubling memories. Perhaps we have held a negative thought, said a bad word to or about someone, or committed a regrettable act against them.
Think of such a memory you may hold even now. In the context of that situation, can you forgive yourself? Was it the best you could do at the time? It must have been because that’s what you did. The question is if you can move on from there.
If we consider a situation in this light, can we find a useful lesson in it? Can we work with a memory, allowing it to move through us in a way that encourages our letting go of the troubling emotion surrounding it? Is there any part of the memory that we still want to hold onto because it provides so much insight into our own life?
What we may begin to realize is that memories are highly interdependent. We know that others teach us—and we them. I think we also teach ourselves. The question that arises, then, is: What are we teaching ourselves through our memories? Are they lessons of growth or limitation, love or fear?
So, as we consider which memories we want to hold and which ones we may want to reframe, I would like to suggest that we say to each other and to ourselves a slightly expanded Ritual of Forgiving:
- I’m sorry
- Please forgive me
- Thank you for being my teacher
- I forgive you
- I love you
You have probably heard the following story before. Perhaps hearing it in the context of how we hold our memories will give it new meaning for you.
One day, as the Buddha and several disciples were walking to a neighboring village, they came upon a stream. There was no bridge, so they would have to wade across.
The stream was swollen from the spring run-off, which made it swifter and deeper than usual. Standing on the bank was a small woman of questionable appearance who was afraid to start across the rushing water.
Without hesitation, the Buddha approached her. He picked her up, put her on his shoulders, walked across the stream, and then gently put her down on the opposite bank. Without a word he walked on, as the disciples—their jaws collectively dropped in shock—splashed across the stream to follow him.
As the Buddha walked ahead of them, the disciples muttered to themselves. Finally they could stand it no longer and surrounded him, demanding answer to the question that confounded them.
“Master,” they said with great consternation. “How could you have touched such an unclean person—and a woman besides? Surely such things are not permitted!”
The Buddha shook his head and said, “I put her down a mile back. Why are you still carrying her?”
So let us consider how we are holding our memories, what lessons we can learn from them, and which ones it is perhaps time for us to leave on the banks of the moving stream that is the path of personal transformation.
May all of your memories be useful ones.
© 2013 Cheryl Eckl Communications, Inc.
Cheryl’s book, A Beautiful Grief: Reflections on Letting Go, has recently won recognition as an outstanding inspirational book: 1st prize Writers’ Digest Self-published Book Awards, 1st prize CIPA EVVY Awards, Nautilus Silver Award.