“Death shall have no dominion…” ~ Dylan Thomas

January, 18, 2015.

I will be reading parts from this today at my grandfather’s memorial service.

Over the holiday season, Jamie’s mother, my mother-in-law (if you are subscribed you received my occasional newsletter which included a photo of an enchanted Jamie and me getting married in November in NYC and I do plan on writing more about that another time), Patty shared that she was exploring a practice about self-awareness which involves no complaining. This surprised me since Patty, definitely some saint reincarnated, seldom complains about anything and is a very happy-go-lucky woman. Part of the practice involved wearing a rubber bracelet as a reminder not to complain and that every time you complained about something you would snap the bracelet on your wrist and then switch it to the other hand and start all over again. She boasted that she had gone on five consecutive days without complaining at one point! The object of wearing the bracelet was to eventually get to a state of mind that didn’t mention the trivial things we complain about as a manner of conversation.

If that bracelet had been placed on my grandfather’s wrist the day he was born, Nana g probably would have never switched that bracelet from one wrist to another till his last breath which he took on Thursday, January 8th, 2015 at the age of 95. I can’t ever recall hearing him complain about anything despite life’s many challenges that he faced throughout his life even as he got sick and weak towards his last days on earth.  Yet despite all the challenges, the sum total of his life seems like a collection of social gatherings with friends, gatherings that seem like a myth to people now, gatherings involving good conversations with good food and authentic company that appreciates the moment, and his attention to his grandchildren.

When I visited him in the hospital a few weeks ago, I was struck by how indeed true this statement is: it is not death that which scares us but life. Yet here was this frail man, agitated like a baby who just wanted to rest, who wasn’t afraid of what was next because he had lived his life to the fullest.

Grieving doesn’t have a time table. Sometimes I feel such a profound sense of loss that it seems akin to floating through star dust all by myself where I can barely hear my own heartbeat. Other times, I rejoice with happy tears for the ways he influenced me. And then there are times, I am fine. Just fine. Then it begins all over again. I also can’t help but note what this loss means for my mother and her siblings (and even my father since he was very close to him too), which leads me to panic at the untimely and selfish fear of one day having to live without my parents instead of focusing on what my  mother is going through. Then the tears come back but they are about something else instead of his loss. They become about living my life in a manner which honors who I am, who I really am, just like he did.

My grandfather was a very social person but by no means did he desire to be the center of attention. In fact, he was a man who minded his own business and I don’t recall him being too verbose. Yet his influence is far reaching to say the least.

Everyone can recall some of their favorite childhood memories. It doesn’t matter whether these recollections are wrapped in precision or even entail accurate facts. It matters not whether these memories are based on confabulations as narrated to you by the adults who are supposed to be the guardians of the Exact Past. The significance of these memories is that as you grow up and continue to dip your adult awareness in that vast river which began long before you could actually recall much of anything, shapes your essence as a human being regardless of what you end up doing with your life or what you have to show for it. At least such has been the case for me and who I continue to become. This is due much in part to the memories I have attached to my grandfather, my mother’s father, my nana.

As a ten year-old I grew up knowing with charged conviction that I knew something extra special about the power and meaning of words because “they” say my nana taught me the entire alphabet and basic vocabulary that went along with the alphabet by the time I was two or three years old. This wasn’t done with the intent to get me into some top kindergarten program or win a prize for young babies. This was done out of love. How could I not grow up to love reading and writing?

There are other stories too that have been transformed into memories. Memories of him taking me on walks with him and his love of talking to strangers and listening to others’ tales which created a blueprint for my desire to explore and understand others. The truth is that I don’t have a clear recollection about a lot of my time with him. He was part of shaping my consciousness at an age when a child is too young to remember everything and yet never forgets those moments either.  The past that continues to shape my truest and highest self comes to me in flashes: tenderness upon seeing a Bhaad-Gaaule black cap or better known as a “topi”, any elderly feeding pigeons, laughing as a form of wisdom, and the power of unconditional faith.

My young adult years provide for less hazier memories. I recall he was always reading, he was always quoting poetry, and he was always quizzing us on historical information. I also remember he was fond of writing letters which is something I too still continue to this day. The greatest gift he gave to me is to show me by example that reading, writing, traveling, exploring, keeping in touch with friends through letters, and finding contentment beyond the material world,  are not done to prove something to someone or because of a lack of anything, but are cultivated because, as author and educator Tom Romano stated, this is how we “bring ourselves to realization.”

His most deep-rooted influence in my life is his love for his wife, my naani, who passed on before I was even born. He was a widower for a good portion of his life. His love for her and his commitment to continue to live his life for his children despite missing her created a lasting impression about “true love” in my mind and for that I will be eternally grateful. His love for her embodied the line from Dylan Thomas’ poem: “though lovers be lost love shall not”.  Whenever I would ask him about her he would have wonderful stories to share about her and he never seemed to forget to add how beautiful she was. His love for her left a permanent impression about what constitutes love in my mind and probably served as one of the reasons for my delayed nuptials, relatively speaking. I wanted something “more” than getting married.

Finally, if there is anything I desire out of life after reflecting about his life it is simply this: I want to be content. I want to be a happy person. He was able to influence so many because he was content. I see this contentment in my mother and her brothers and for me it would be the highest achievement. He lived his days fully engaged with life and didn’t let life’s challenges stop him from enjoying what really mattered.

Grateful to Jamie for reminding me of this Dylan Thomas poem which is most appropriate.

“Death Shall Have No Dominion” By Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.

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