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By Gwen Randall-Young
I have written often about the meaning of life, love, pain, and transcendence. Recently, my words all slipped into the background, as life presented me with yet another of those profound experiences that catapults us to an even deeper level of awareness.
A true soulmate of mine died suddenly and unexpectedly a very short time after we had spoken, on the telephone, what were to be our last words. He had his share of struggle and angst in this lifetime. He was not a ‘spiritual’ man: as a scientist, he believed nothing without concrete proof.
As I wrote his eulogy, I realized he was indeed ‘spiritual’ - as we are all spiritual beings. While he was not a saint, and at times felt a bit of a failure, I now understand the heroic journey of those who live simply, consistently honoring some very basic values. It is for this reason I choose to share a part of the eulogy I wrote for him.
I hope, in reading these words, some of you will gain a deeper appreciation of your own selves. Life is not about accomplishment or achievement; it is not about recognition or approval. It is about the simple things. It is about heart.
Robert,
You were a rare and beautiful soul who lived the equivalent of many lifetimes in a few short years. You had so much knowledge … but you also had knowing. You could see into the heart of so many things.
Family was so important to you. You spent hours rubbing your Mother’s feet when she was ill, and talking with her. You had such empathy and compassion for your Father. Even though he was a man of few words, you made every effort to understand what was in his heart.
You never, ever judged. You always understood and forgave.
You were so humble.
The loving connection that visited us was deep and exquisite: a true meeting of soul, heart and mind. We knew we were blessed, but you knew something I did not. You were filled with restlessness and turmoil, and could not truly envision a future.
Now I know why.
I look back over the pages and pages you wrote to me, and I now find many pieces of writing that hinted at what was to come: on some level, at only forty-one years old, you knew you were near the end of your life.
I know you have returned to that home you left behind. You knew you would return early. You shared your heart, your soul, your being with me. Your love is your legacy; and in this, I think you were also fulfilled. In one of your late night communications you wrote this:
I believed as a child that love was complete unto itself….later, as the pessimism of age took hold, I began to hope only that ‘on balance’ that love could fill our shadows with bright and vibrant color….
….now that I am older still, and in many ways, that child again…I ‘do’ believe that all that is left before that final breath, is that one, grand, overpowering love…the love that bleeds and bellows to the moon…the love that makes poetry writ large…the love that doubles us over with pain…
…for a man who believes that “this” is our only existence…it seems to me that love should be the fireworks at the end of the night…if nothing else, a celebration not of a joyous, a meaningful or a saintly life…but a celebration, that one was able, for even a moment…to pass through, and occupy the space between his lover’s essence.
This kind of loving touched you. We both knew it, even though it was tinged with the sadness of your knowing…a sadness which now indeed doubles me over with pain.
I know now, more than ever, that love is the most important gift we have to give.
I know that death is a transformation, not an ending. The spirit of a loved one remains with us, though we must say goodbye to the physical presence. I understand so well now, that how we live each day and interact with others, more than anything else, determines how we will be remembered. Every interaction that we have leaves a footprint. Step with care, and consciousness.
Gwen Randall-Young is a psychotherapist and author of Dancing Soul: The Voice of Spirit Evolving and the audiocassette After Recess: A Calming Meditation for the Elementary School Classroom. Email: gwendall@shaw.ca.
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