On November 19, 2006, Billy Irl Butler quite literally gave up the ghost after a lifetime of illness. The prior evening, my mother, sister and I, along with my sister’s sons and her grandson, gathered at my parents house to visit and spend time together. It was a good evening, filled with laughter and love. Even amid the familial feelings and closeness, there was a quiet serenity about my father. Somehow, in that evening, he had achieved a sense of completeness. That evening, that room contained the core of his contribution to the world, a representation of all the lives he had touched, the kindnesses he had shown many. We were the fortunate ones to be close to him. Though that closeness is a double-edged sword, we had pushed through to accepting we were all human, all fallible, and we were OK with it. A fact brought home so clearly the next morning.
When confronting the waning years, days or hours of someone I love, I am given to consider suffering. I imagine two cups filled to the midpoint. In this case, I am one cup and my father is the other. What fills the cups is suffering. If I desire him to continue living, I pour my suffering into his cup. It fills to the top and I am relieved of the suffering. If I accept that his rest and end to suffering benefits him, I pour his cup into mine. But my cup doesn’t fill to the top, for my grief at his loss, while suffering, is not forever. If, in my selfishness, I demand he live, no matter the context, his suffering multiplies because he bears my suffering as well. But if I let him go, the suffering ends. I grieve, but I am human, I have the capacity to embody the grief to its conclusion and then continue on in happiness with the memories.
That is why letting go is so important. It is hard, so very hard, to tell someone you love that it is Ok for them to continue on their journey. The choice will determine the course your grief will take. If you choose to empty your cup into that of the dying, you prolong their pain until the body can no more. Once they die, you receive all the suffering back in the form of grief and guilt. If you choose the cup of the dying, you grant them love and grace, easing their suffering for the passing. You are both freed in the end.
So, what does this have to do with gratitude? I am grateful I could take my father’s cup that night before he died. I am grateful that I could do the same for other members of my family who have continued on. We all choose to be the type of person who takes the cup or pours the cup. I will always be grateful that my father taught me the wisdom of choosing to take the cup.
Namasté