Let's Talk About the "D" Word

“Death is not the opposite of life, it is a part of life. A part we’ve not yet explored and thus do not understand and it is only natural to fear what we do not understand. But with the right attitude, we can make life beautiful. With this same attitude, can death not be the same?” ~Unknown

Several sorrowful and inexplicable developments have occupied my mind this week. The seeming randomness and brevity of the human condition have pulled me up short and begged me to examine death. After a routine pediatrician visit, a classmate of my four-year-old granddaughter was diagnosed with a rare bone cancer; a sweet young mother in my circle discovered, after experiencing a series of seizures, that she has three inoperable brain tumors; and my former husband's baby sister entered hospice after a courageous years-long battle with esophageal cancer. And sitting here at my local coffee shop penning this column this morning, I am watching a middle-aged woman lean heavily on the arm of a gentleman as they make their way haltingly to the counter, surely in the advanced stages of some neurological disorder.

My heart is heavy, dear readers. 

But why? We’ll all transition. In grieving these tragedies, do I set myself somehow above and apart from the inevitability of my own demise, thinking, “Whew, glad it’s not me or my kids?”

Not yet.

At 68 years old, I have far less time in front of me than behind me. Have I made peace, come to terms with my mortality? I have a belief; I’m not sure I’d call it faith, but I have a view of the afterlife that sustains me. I’ve taken care of the business of drawing up a final will and testament, establishing health directives, and downsizing my home and belongings.

Still, all these maneuvers are cerebral, they’ve been undertaken at arm’s length, without the full embodiment, the complete readiness and acceptance of death. Let’s address the elephant in the room; let’s stop whispering about others’ dying and death and have full-bodied conversations about our own misgivings while we can. How I wish I’d had end-of-life discussions with my mom before she left us suddenly in 2016.

What would it take to view death through a lens of curiosity, to see it as a great adventure, the final frontier? When my time comes, I hope I can show up aware and prepared, with eyes wide open in wonder.

I’ve asked my Reiki master and dear friend, Caroline, to be part of the care team should I be lucky (?) enough to spend my final days on hospice. What’s something you can do today to reduce the discomfort, the fear, around death? Perhaps start here: http://bit.ly/3IytWQm

Here’s how some do it in Australia: http://bit.ly/3k8uG5g

 

Another Open Letter to Women Who Stalk

stalk: pursue or approach stealthily, shadow, track down, creep up on, go after

~Merriam-Webster Dictionary

Back on October 28, I wrote An Open Letter to a Woman Who Fawns (https://carolmossa.substack.com/p/an-open-letter-to-a-woman-who-fawns-fe9), calling out the insecurity so many women have around their relationships with men and their not so subtle messaging. On December 16, I wrote An Open Letter to Men Who Co-opt and Women Who Let Them (https://carolmossa.substack.com/p/an-open-letter-to-men-ceb), admonishing men for their tendencies to barrel into relationships without working on themselves first, thereby bringing us their unfinished emotional baggage.

Here I am again, calling out women, this time for their craven and opportunistic stalking of men. Perhaps stalk is too strong, too loaded, a word for the behavior I'm about to describe. You, dear readers, can replace it with something more to your liking, but based on the suggestions in the definition above, I'd say, I'm pretty on point. In today's current digital world, it's easy to pursue stealthily, shadow, track down, creep up on, and/or go after a romantic fantasy. I have watched in amusement, now revulsion, as several such fantasies have unfolded on social media. 

One woman I am acquainted with has patiently stalked her prey for several years. On Valentine’s Day, she showed up in my newsfeed, leaning in for a staged hug, having taken herself on a West Coast vacation that just happened to be within driving distance of this man's hometown. Subtle? Not very. Creepy? Yes. What kind of woman plans a vacation with the intention of surprising a man she's come to know casually on social media, popping in on him at his place of business? What would you say about that same man, if after a few years of digital messaging, he just happened to show up on your doorstep?

I was sixteen in 1970, and the only time it was socially acceptable to ask a boy out on a date was when the annual Sadie Hawkins dance rolled around. So maybe I'm biased, maybe I'm old-fashioned, but that's not what this aversion is about because, after all, what's good for the goose is good for the gander, right? But there is something entirely untoward and downright creepy about women who cozy up on social media with men they've friended---liking, loving, and commenting on their every post. It's because I am a feminist and believe in the rights of women, the strength of women and their right (and responsibility) to stand on their own two feet, to make their way in the world, that I cringe when I see women throwing themselves at men's feet. 

Why should I care? As a woman who has made her way in the world with no strings attached, I'm telling you that this behavior makes you—-women who stalk—-look pitifully weak, disempowered, desperate, and conniving. It's not cunning. It's not cute. It's creepy. Again, imagine if this man, or any man, pulled the same stunt. 

"Never go in search of love, go in search of life, and life will find you the love you seek." ~Atticus

There's a difference between being a woman who is in the flow, outgoing, free-spirited, and in love with life, and a woman who is a flagrant and obvious self-seeker. 

Ladies, stop, just stop! 

Food for thought: https://backtolovedoc.com/should-women-pursue-men-in-dating/

Fall in Love

“If you want love and abundance in your life, give it away.” — Mark Twain

I learned a lot about love last year. I learned that my love of self has to come first, that in order to find love, I have to give love. I learned that my love can't save anyone. No matter how much I love other sick and suffering people, I can't want their wellness more than they do.

I fell in love over and over again last year. I took several domestic road trips, and each time I checked in to a new room for the night, I fell in love. I fell in love with my hosts, their families; I fell in love with the people at meetings in halls, and church basements; I fell in love with the hills, valleys, mountains, oceans, and lakes of this great country.

And I fell even more deeply in love with myself, with my courage, my strength, my laugh, my heart, my mind, my God.

So, it matters little that I don't have one person in my life to love. I have three grown children and their partners, children and pups to love. I have hundreds of men and women all over the country to love, and they, blessedly, love me back. If you are in a relationship, love deeper. Dig in. Let go of your petty resentments. Something missing? Try providing it instead of waiting for it.

This Valentine's weekend, instead of sitting home, feeling sorry for yourself that a relationship ended or  crashed and burned on take-off,  pick up some carnations and greeting cards and donate them to the residents at a nursing home in your town.

Want love? Begin by giving it away. 

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

Check out: http://bit.ly/3JEkxaW