The 10th anniversary of 9/11 has given a collective pause to our fast forward society.  The reflections range from the scope of the tragedy and how it changed the world to whether we are any safer today to individual recollections of a day that no one can forget. 

It's triggered in me a reminder of how precious life is and how life goes on, in spite of deep sadness.  Photo by PeterJBellis

Over the weekend, I saw two friends. One seems to be on the other side of pain, after going through a divorce and now, selling the family home.  She's looking forward to new, smaller digs.  Two years ago, I bumped into her after a school function.  She seemed to be at a low point, in the middle of divorce proceedings and recently having lost a parent.  My friend is a reminder of how life's journey undulates, never staying in one emotional place for too long.  We are taken down the river, to a different, and hopefully, better place. 

The other friend is in the midst of pain, having met with doctors last week about her husband, a man who has been in ICUs and acute care facilities continuously since April.  His body is a shell of his former self, with failed kidneys and damaged lungs, and no signs of rejuvenation.  My friend has decided to end life support for her husband.  I wonder, "What must it be like to make such a decision, for someone you love?"  I can only guess. She's looking forward to the time when she can think of him as he was in the past, when his spirit fully inhabited his body, when she can push aside the image of the man lying in the hospital bed.  Life will go on, past the frozen images at the end of life.

Juxtaposed next to pain and suffering is meaning.  This morning, I heard on National Public Radio a piece about "dignity therapy", used with terminally ill patients to help them make meaning of their life.  This process results in "a formal written narrative of the patient's life — a document that could be passed on to whomever they chose. The patients would be asked a series of questions about their life history and the parts they remember most or think are most important. Their answers would be transcribed and presented to them for editing until, after going back and forth with the therapist, a polished document resulted that could be passed on to the people that they loved." Photo by MAMJODH

Making meaning about our life, at the end of our life, is a way to tie up loose ends, and to leave with a sense of peace. 

Another friend told me about a sci-fi book, Speaker for the Dead, which introduces the idea of a dead person's life being told by a third party–more objective than a eulogy and more multi-faceted than an obituary.  According to Wikipedia:

"Speakers research the dead person's life and give a speech that attempts to speak for them, describing the person's life as he or she tried to live it. This speech is not given in order to persuade the audience to condemn or forgive the deceased, but rather a way to understand the person as a whole, including any flaws or misdeeds."

Pain and suffering do not disappear with meaning.  But the journey becomes tolerable, even purposeful.  

Which brings me back to the preciousness of life.  Each day, we have the opportunity to make meaning, to live out 24 hours in a way that weaves a coherent story.  We don't need to wait until the end to tell the story.

One of my favorite quotes is by Mary Oliver: 

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

I plan on making meaning.  How about you?

Photo by donjd2