A Journey Toward the Meaning of Life

 

I offer these thoughts. If they resonate, they are a gift to you. If they don’t, let them go.

Why are we here?

This is an age old question that most every human has pondered or will ponder at one point or another during his/her life.

This question cannonballed its way into my life four and a half years ago when my youngest of 4 children, my 24-year-old son, Eric, was killed in a solo car accident. Talk about blindsided. Nothing made sense anymore. Life lost all meaning. I no longer felt I had a purpose. This beautiful life that I had meticulously built along with my husband was shattered. The unthinkable had actually happened. What is the point of all of this? Why are we spending so much time assembling our lives when they can be broken apart in an instant? What kind of game are we playing?

Why are we here?

It is a mystery. That is what the monsignor of our church said when he stopped by our home the day after Eric’s transition.  My husband and I were comforted not only by the caring gesture of his visit (even though he had a huge church community to attend to) but also by what he said. When he came in and sat down on our couch next to the lit candle and graduation photo of Eric, his first words were, “It’s a mystery.” He did not claim to know the answers, and he didn’t placate us with the idea that it was God’s plan. He simply left it at mystery. And though I wanted more than that from him, I would eventually see the great truth in this. 

I believe Monsignor understood that no matter what he said, it would not make it better, it would not give us a satisfactory answer. I believe he knew that this is a question each one of us has to answer ourselves. I believe he knew that this was a very personal conversation between God and me, and he could not participate in that conversation. It was my journey to take. 

The other thing he said was that people will tell us that it will get better with time and we will eventually get over this. He said, “That’s rubbish.” He told us we will have days when our son’s memory will bring us a smile, and other days when his memory will be like a dagger in the heart.  He didn’t try to fix us. He pulled no punches. He not only gave us the gift of a visit, but also the gift of the truth. We so appreciated this. 

So, for the last 4 ½ years since that horrendous day, I have been searching for the answer. I have read well over a hundred books that relate in any way to the subjects of life and death, spirituality, and afterlife, as well as how each of these themes are viewed by various world cultures. I have listened to hundreds of podcasts on these same subjects, many of them from the same authors of the books I have read. I have pondered and prayed, mulled over and mediated, discussed and deliberated, and to date I have made some discoveries.  I hesitate to say I may have found some answers, for this is an enormous question which is not easily answered, and which we must always continue to contemplate. But something began to resonate. Something clicked.

When my son passed away, nothing else mattered. All the “little” things in life, like what car I drove and what size my house was, what clothes I wore and whether or not I was having a good or bad hair day, no longer had any importance whatsoever.  Even seemingly bigger things like which college my kids got into or whether or not we could even afford college for them in the first place, lost any relevance. When my most significant reason for being here, my child, disappeared from my grasp, I knew that all that mattered at all was that deep bond of love I had with him, the same one I have with my husband and 3 other kids.

So as I foraged through books and podcasts, sifting out words of comfort and wisdom, I found a common theme, one which matched what I had been feeling.

Don’t hold your breath. You’ve heard this one before, as have I. But now it had a much deeper meaning. 

It was love. Simply love. A love so great that from it flows compassion and kindness.

For you see, when you are broken open, you now have space for the light to come through – if you allow it. When you are flattened to the ground in complete surrender, with no strength left to kick and fight, you will finally allow peace to surround you, hold you. Your heart softens with compassion for, first of all, yourself. And then, when you are ready, this compassion can flow from you to others around you. 

As I looked around, I saw that I was not the only one. There were others suffering as well. And as I picked myself up and began to see that I was connected with so many others who had also lost their loved ones, I knew there was no choice but to do for them that which had been done for me, to offer to them the same kindness and compassion that had been given to me and my family. No more need for measuring who deserves it or not. No more judgment. We all need love. We all need understanding. We all need compassion. 

Orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Mary C. Neal, had a near death experience when she was submerged underwater for almost 30 minutes during a kayaking accident in southern Chile in 1999. She tells about the indescribable love that she experienced when she was in Heaven. One of the biggest takeaways for me from her book Seven Lessons from Heaven was that she was shown how even the smallest act of kindness done here on Earth is looked upon by those in the spiritual realm as huge. Again, no measuring. She said she was able to see the ripple effect that extended out 20 or 30 times from that one small act of kindness. 

Various faith traditions teach the connection between suffering and love. The Buddhist philosophy teaches that it is through suffering that our hearts become tender, making us more likely to extend compassion to others. Father Richard Rohr, founder of The Center for Action and Contemplation in Albuquerque, New Mexico, says that it is through great love and great suffering that we come to God, or certainly that we can come to God. He says that if we don’t transform our suffering, we will certainly transmit it. 

Grief specialist David Kessler explains that it is possible to make meaning after a loss by, among other things, honoring your loved one who has passed away.  And one invaluable way to do this is to help others dealing with this same challenge, extend a hand out to those in need. 

I found that by offering acts of kindness, even small ones, I give to others as others had given to me. This is what Eric did. After his passing, dozens of his friends told me stories of his benevolence to so many of them, as well as to many people he had only met just once. So I do it for him. I can make something good out of this extremely challenging reality of now having to live without his physical presence. 

I began to understand, in my heart, deep down into the core of my being, that this is what it is all about. This simple word that we have all heard from as far back as we can remember – love – is the big lesson. 

My daughter, Vanessa, has had many dreams where Eric is with her. They hang out, talk, laugh and tease. She told me that in one of these dreams Eric told her that we are here for the experience. Yes, the experience of this life, the experience of our humanness. We are here to feel all of it, the joy and the pain. We are here to be awed and amazed, to see the miracle in the mundane, and the extraordinary in the ordinary.

It was my suffering that brought me here. It was my great loss that catapulted me into new territory.  I have discovered that not only are we here to love, but also to serve, forgive, and show compassion, which are extensions of love. We do this, not for the acknowledgement or the merit points, but just because.  I always knew these qualities were important. But now I really know. And these are not just traits. These are actions, these are energies, these are the power and the meaning…of life. 

There is still mystery, as Monsignor said. This is all so much bigger than my little brain will ever comprehend. And that's okay with me now. Monsignor was wise to let me discover this on my own. For now the space in my heart is filled with a greater awareness of why we’re here, an awareness he would not have been able to explain to me that day after Eric moved to Heaven. It became my truth, my awareness. And from this awareness, I have found peace.

Ram Dass, an American spiritual teacher and the author of the 1971 book Be Here Now, is famously quoted as saying “We’re all just walking each other home.” This couldn’t resonate with me more. We are all here not only to love each other, but also to support each other and hold each other up. In this way we help each other through the inevitable challenges. There is indescribable beauty in this. And this is where we find God.

(Read more about my journey from grief to hope in my books Look Around and A Bird Called Wisdom.)