Were all these dying Buddhas coming around to teach me something?

Very kind of them to take me on as a student but, honestly, I didn’t want to learn these lessons. I wanted to understand life and death without the messy learning curve. The fact was, though, that I didn’t know how to say goodbye and asking for help didn’t feel like an option. What was I supposed to say to Michael? “Help me grieve you. I know you are busy dying, and all, but can you help me sort through my own feelings while you are at it? I can’t quite seem to do this on my own.” That seemed so wrong. I was afraid I would appear weak if I revealed my fear and sadness. The anticipatory grief was overwhelming me and I was ashamed that would mean I was spiritually weak.

I didn’t know there was a difference between humiliation and humility.

In desperation, I sat at Michael’s feet and wept. “This is so much bigger than me. Will you help me?”

“Will you help me?” Four words that once signified the ultimate in humiliation for me became the bravest words I ever spoke. Michael said yes and my instruction began in earnest.

The lesson plan has been, and continues to be, quite a ride. Among the things I have learned so far, I now know:

• It is possible to embrace someone as both living and dying as soon as you give up the need to label the present moment. All you ever have is the present moment.

• Inner beauty, grace and dignity trump expanding waist lines, unreliable bodies and catheter bags every time.

• Self care is not something to resume once the crisis is over. Crises have a way of stacking up.

• Collapsing from exhaustion does not count as relaxation.

• Time alone to reflect is critical. No one can do your processing for you.