When Death Comes Knocking

Eight siblings .....and then there were seven.

Reflecting back on this past week of Día de los Muertos reminds us that those we love remain alive in our hearts, stories, and memories. Rather than mourning death, it's a joyful celebration of life, love, remembrance, and the continuing connection between the living and their ancestors.

This year, I'm honoring two new ancestors and I feel moved to share my intimate encounter with death and its mysterious phenomenon.  

My brother Terry passed on Tuesday, October 27, after years of living with cancer. His body was well used up, yet his mind remained curious and enthusiastic. We shared a love of travel and the tropics, and even during what became his last few days, from his hospital bed, he shared his dream of selling his house in California and moving to Maui.

During the time of his transition, I prayed and encouraged him to come visit us here in Costa Rica from the spiritual realm once he left his body. Lo and behold, on his birthday, Thursday, October 29, being the scorpion that he was, a large scorpion appeared in my room. I gently transported him out to the garden, thankful for the auspicious sign that Terry had accepted the invitation and would bless our gardens from this day forward.

Adding to that experience, my father-in-law, Roxy’s grandfather and Azani’s great-grandfather, Lama Tashi, died suddenly in our arms on the first day of Día de los Muertos. We had all come together in Ojochal at Yacumama, the eco-village we’ve been involved with for the past two years, to attend a permaculture workshop focused on the importance of community-building for the sake of tending the land.

Both Tashi and my brother Terry were dedicated gardeners who loved nothing more than tending soil, planting seeds, cultivating them, and enjoying the blooms and the fruit.

Throughout the weekend, we shared stories, laughter, and love. We took Tashi to visit our soon-to-be home, Casa Del Sol, where we would all live together.

Our family of four-generations - two days before Tashi passed. 
 

Then, on Sunday, November 1, as Roxanne was escorting him to the gathering, he suddenly collapsed in her arms. As he lay on the Earth, help was called, and though we attempted CPR, he left his body, which he had mentioned was becoming quite a challenge.

He had moved to Costa Rica after leaving Kauai, his home of 40 years, to teach the Dharma of Tibetan Buddhism and live out his monastic life as a Bodhisattva.

Living with Roxanne and Azani in the cool mountain air of Chirripó, his strength and vigor expanded as he spent his days practicing, meditating, gardening, and giving teachings, a prime example of truly embracing equanimity.

Once the paramedic arrived and officially announced his death, we were able to transfer his body from the Earth and hold sacred vigil in the beautiful environment that he loved. We laid him on his bed with a gorgeous South Pacific Ocean view, surrounded him with flowers, altars, and incense. Our community gathered and sang, prayed, chanted, cried, and shared stories and laughter of all the times we had shared with this auspicious man.

His death was a beautiful example of how he lived his life, and it couldn’t have been more perfect.

Sometimes timing doesn’t feel perfect, and I shared my feelings with my grandson, Azani, admitting that I was sad we didn’t get to live together at Casa Del Sol in our four-generation household. In his four-year-old wisdom, he looked at me and said, “That’s OK, Amma. It’s just the way of nature.”

And so it is.

I shall appreciate this time of Día de los Muertos like never before as I honor all of my benevolent ancestors and continue inviting the spirits of both Terry and Tashi into our gardens—forever.

It is my hope that we can honor death as beautifully as we honor birth. Both are part of the natural cycle of life, yet we often celebrate one and fear the other.

In his will, Lama Tashi wrote these simple, profound words: “Cause of death is birth.”

From the moment we are born, death is inevitable. Perhaps by accepting this truth, we can soften our fears, embrace the impermanence of it all, and more fully appreciate the precious gift of being alive.

I wonder, what is your relationship with death? Is it something you fear, avoid, accept, or embrace as part of the natural rhythm of life?

How might your relationship with death influence the way you choose to live?