May
18
2012

Loving and Dying

It’s so easy to take life for granted. I’m so lucky to have my asthma under control, and there are such great meds now that it’s a total non-issue, save once every year or two. And I’m so healthy now. I’m strong and I can do as much activity as I want. It’s a blessing every day, but it’s so easy to forget.

Yesterday I had an asthma attack, which is an interesting experience. When you’ve got minutes of oxygen between you and death, what’s important in life becomes crystal clear.

What it means to live, why live, and what’s important have been on my mind for a lot of my life. Death being a part of my life growing up, and the time I spent struggling to just live and be healthy in my twenties, not to mention asthma attacks in my thirties (and a concussion!) forcing me to stare death in the face, have all taught me that it all really comes down to love.

The article, The Top 5 Regrets of the Dying, has been making the rounds lately. When I’ve been around people who have died, I’ve noticed there’s a place of pure peace and pure love that they reach.

The only other time I’ve seen that kind of love and clarity is from mothers. There seems to be a period of time when they’re so swollen with love for their unborn or recently born baby, that they don’t have room for petty issues or anger or resentment. They know what’s important: they just LOVE.

Forgiveness is unnecessary. It’s like you reach a point where no matter what someone has done, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even register, not even as the tiniest breeze on the tip of your finger. You just reach a point where it’s all just acceptance and love.

(Somewhere between the panic and tears, ROFL…)

But in the daily grind of things, those big lessons we learn along the way of life are forgotten, and petty issues grow bigger, and we start keeping mental spreadsheets of giving and getting, of faults and grievances, and who did what or didn’t what.

In the end, you don’t care about any of that, or even about the love you’ve gotten; you only want to give more love.

Last night reminded me how lucky I am, and that I want to live—live, not just live—and that I want to love more. And life is too precious to even bother thinking about the small stuff, let alone sorting out whether you want to sweat it or not.

Also, most of the big stuff is actually quite small.

Written by Natasha Fondren in: Musings |

7 Comments »

  • Eric Mayer says:

    Very scary. I’m glad I don’t have asthma.

    Reading the news every day is enough to make one wonder about the point of life. So many people wasting their lives on ugliness and hatred. And wasting the
    lives of others as well. I’m not very religious, but isn’t the
    basic theme of the Gospels that it’s all about love? Yeah, people
    laughed at the hippies and that whole love thing, but look at the
    kind of world we’ve got thanks to the people who laughed.

    I’m sure your philosophy is right, but it is so hard to believe
    it and live in in this world.

  • Yes, scary. I’m glad you are OK. I’ve never been that close and don’t really know what to expect of my own feelings. And there is the struggle of the body as well as the mind. Something to think about for sure.

  • Nan Bush says:

    What can I say but ‘yep!’ Super post.
    I do suspect you will enjoy the mss I just sent you, if you can find time to read it as well as design!

    Don’t you miss having a piano?

  • A very perceptive post. I enjoyed it very much and know exactly what you’re talking about. I make an effort to remember every day that we’ll all die. Everytime my husband or daughter and I part, I think that maybe I won’t see them again and that makes me really appreciate them.

    My brother in law died recently and inspired a post you might be interested in. Eric might like it too, because it shows how life is all about love. http://happyhonkers.wordpress.com/2012/04/21/a-flame-has-died-but-a-spark-remains/

  • mom2brie says:

    Love you!

  • Reenie says:

    Nice writing and spot on. About 4 weeks ago I was diagnosed with a disease that has no cure or treatment. I’d actually known a month beforehand when I landed in the ER in Santa Fe, NM and had a CAT scan. I kept my illness a secret so I could spend time with my grandsons with a planned visit and also allow my youngest son to hike the alps of Italy and Austria without the weight of concern for me. My other son was in China. I waited for the right time if there is ever one when the news is so important and unexpected and unwanted.

    Upon learning of my diagnosis, my first thoughts were sad because they were thoughts about my children whom I adore. My second thoughts were the adventures I’d never be able to plan. My third thoughts were that my disease was going to be harder on my family than me. My fourth thought was,”It’s okay.” It’s really okay. I have no choice but to feel comfort in knowing that everything will be okay.

    I’ve been given 2 years. I was evaluated for a clinical trial today. When the time comes, I’ll be evaluated for a double lung transplant.

    The only thing that has changed in my life is that I’m tethered to oxygen… but that okay. Life is much the same because laundry must be done, errands run, meals prepared. It’s all okay. My doctor advised me to look for a live-in companion.

    I take a dose of positive every day and make sure everyone else in my orbit does too. When I think positive, I am positive. When I think healthy, I feel healthy. These attitudes empower me.

    Thanks for letting me yak. I’m back at journalscape. Facebook was too noisy.

    • Natasha Fondren says:

      Hi Reenie!

      OMG, I can’t imagine! How are you doing? I bet your family would rather spend time with you.

      Facebook is noisy. Blogging seems to have died. I only come to my own blog once in a blue moon, and I visit others only now and then. I miss the blogging days, though! Good times!

      I really hope you get a miracle!

      Hugs,
      Natasha :-)

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