Finitude
Some things are finite. All things are finite at some point. This is the ultimate truth of the vast and varied cycles of life. Birth and Death, beginnings and endings. Transitions. Only when we willingly are tasting our big losses, can we participate consciously in the renewal and healing process that is offered to us. Finitude is a stern teacher, it creates Awe. Our mouth opens in shock, fear, and stunned Awe. A loved one’s existence vanishes into the big black hole of no return. Like my husband of 25 years. In the early hours of October 20, 2016, ten years ago. Last week, I heard myself mention a few times “his tenth death day.” A literal translation from German: sein zehnter Todestag. People might have puzzled over that expression. Polite as Americans are, only one person asks: “What do you mean... his death-day?”
When a long-time partner dies, we die as well. Then we have to wonder how, or if, we will be rebirthed. Everyone’s path is different. Some rush. For most people this takes time. I personally wandered and waded for two years through the fecund Great Valley of Sorrow. Accumulated exhaustion from years of care giving, as well as filmmaking, then immediate demand of navigating necessary, endless, sometimes urgent, bureaucratic tasks. Archiving, sorting out. The letting go, seemingly never-ending. In this process I was alone. And this was a mistake, I must admit. But I survived, and increasingly enjoyed re-discovering myself and life. And ten years later, I am a very changed person, living a new life. For the past ten years – transformation abound. Missing the physical presence of my Mama, my late husband Bob, my closest friend and confidant John, Bob’s daughter Marya (murdered in 2023), and beloved ancient Mama Oak in the garden. My relationship to them is just as strong, my gratitude unwavering. Their spirits distinctly and eternally alive. These ancestors are teaching me about cycles. Yes, old age is an adventure. And in my case, death was always close-by, in my youth losing so many students, colleagues, friends, to AIDs, and much more.
Last year, at Bob’s ninth death-day, I felt a cycle completed. This year’s October 20 is busy with teaching, a visit of fire inspectors, and a surprise house guest in my Refugio. Lively Antonie, 88 years old, and Dante, 95 years old, are briefly in town, staying with Fern and Sam, friends who had introduced me to them a few years ago. So, I offer their son Tony my Refugio for three nights. He accompanied them on their two-week East Coast journey visiting with family. Now they are in the Bay Area to see a very close friend who is in home hospice. Same age as Dante – 50 years of friendship. A surprise stop-over for them before returning to Ramona. Witnessing Tony’s genuine caring, humble kindness, patience, just the right attention – not too little not too much – move me, make me happy. This kind of devotion to old folks seems rare these days. On their last night, when sitting down at the dinner table, I hear Antonie muttering to herself the word: “Finitude” shaking her head. This gesture strikes and stirs me deeply. Her honest perception of reality, comforts me. Thank you, Antonie. Finitude is in the picture. Full of life. Full of sun.
When things are not spoken, when death is wiped off the table, loss and grief have to go underground. A conscious rebirth cannot be experienced. Finitude wants to be acknowledged so that truly new and exquisite experience of life can emerge. The great composting takes place despite humans. Miraculous cycles of all kind are waiting to be appreciated. Through the years, my daily gratitude keeps growing into new possibilities. New mystery and enchantment.
After his early morning departure, Tony thanks me via text. Sharing how much he enjoyed peeking into my late husband’s book Our Mothers’ Spirits – On the Death of Mothers and the Grief of Men, which I had placed on the table next to the bed. He read the introduction, learning much. What a good writer my late husband was, and he was going to buy the book. But I found another hard copy to send off to Tony in Seattle. Having been closely involved in its gestation, I always gift it to just the right people. And I re-read Bob’s dedication to me – his gratitude on paper.
The book’s acknowledgement pages end with this paragraph:
Karina Epperlein provided much more than her daily offerings of love and encouragement. She read the essays as they came in and provided critical suggestions that improved many of the pieces. With an artist’s eye she envisioned the project as a whole, and it was she who first thought of framing it on death and dying. Without her my life would be infinitely less rich and the present book might not exist at all.
Finitude and Eternity are both essential – worthy of Awe.
An Anthology, edited by Bob Blauner
(published by ReganBooks, Harper Collins, 1997)
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