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In just a couple of days I'll have to think about what happened in 2014. I always do at this time of year. There was a time when, with the approach of my birthday, I dreaded the next two months for all of the extra work that came with the holidays. As an only child, I had to take on more responsibility for the holidays for my parents and then my husband's family as well. There were multiple Thanksgiving dinners and extra Christmas celebrations and, in later years, the Christmas projects that my husband and I would undertake. That morning in 2014, two days before Thanksgiving, my husband and I were talking about our Christmas project. And then, a couple of hours later, he was dead.
My mother had died the previous summer. We were at her house, making plans to begin clearing it out and putting it up for sale. We had no extra plans for Thanksgiving. With all our family, except his grown daughter, gone--dead--we had no obligations except to each other--and we wanted no special dinners or extra work beyond what was necessary. Indeed, we wanted no other company, enjoying the chance to spend time together. Both of us had a special affection for the Austin Shelter for Battered Women, and we had already agreed to bring extra supplies for their pantry and whatever household goods we ran across. The east side of Houston was a great place to find bargains, and we had the van to haul them back to Austin. We were in the dining area, he making notes, me babbling about some good news from the scales, and then I brought up the Christmas project.
He said he was tired and was going to take a nap. I said, "Me, too." I had already been running errands that morning, and a nap, when we had no schedule or deadlines, seemed really reasonable to me. When I went into the bedroom a few minutes behind him, he was struggling for breath, and I couldn't rouse him. I called 911, went to let the paramedics in, but he never woke up. He died. I have to repeat that word. He didn't just pass away, or leave, or go. He died.
I was really pissed about that. After all those years of taking care of our family elders. After all those years of making others happy. It was finally our time. Our time to be together. Our time to do what we wanted to do. Our. Time.
So how does this have anything to do with being a Happy (Ethical) Human?
More than you would think. I may seem like a Grumpy (But Still, I Hope, Ethical) Human during this time of year. I'm not much into socializing or sharing feasts or even lots of presents. I have plenty of stuff, thank you. I am very conscious of food waste and over-eating, so I need to give the big dinners a miss. I do return to my grief sometimes during the holidays, and I really would rather spare others the gloomy face.
Even so, I am content. I have lovely memories of the time we had together. I have happy memories of all the Thanksgivings and Christmases that we spent with our families. It was a lot of work, yes, but the laughter, the singing, the love made up for every bit of the work. And I've had time to make peace with death. It's part of life--we are born, we live our lives, we die. That makes how we live our lives all the more important. To live a life that we can be pleased with. Did we do the right thing? Did we do enough? Did we help others?
Now my task is to live my life as well as I can, as Ethically as I can. Lucky me to have such wonderful memories to keep me company. How interesting--and comforting--to discover that Felix Adler had similar thoughts in talking about Consolations for grief:
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