I have often heard and read that when someone close to us dies, or when we ourselves come face to face with death (through an accident, illness, or similar), our values in life shift: everyday conflicts and frictions lose their importance; we take ourselves and our overly important opinions less seriously; people begin to search for meaning — they become “spiritual” in a natural way. Compassion, gentleness, and mindfulness toward life begin to dominate their lives. But what happens in the life of a spiritual person who has consciously been walking this path for many years? What happened in my life when my mother left her body?
For a long time, the first of the Four Noble Truths in Buddhism remained rather “abstract” to me:
“All conditioned existence is associated with suffering, dissatisfaction, or imperfection. This includes birth, aging, sickness, death, sorrow, pain, and not getting what one desires.”
Yes, yes — somehow true, but it’s not that bad either …
My understanding — and with it my seriousness on the path — changed profoundly during the last three years, the time in which I cared for my mother. My mother, a very lively, humorous, and often wise person, suffered from dementia. As the illness gradually progressed, her suffering increased: she had been used to being in control of her life, and now that control was slowly slipping away from her. She panicked, became depressed, she suffered. And I could not alleviate her suffering. I had to endure this and at the same time remain positive and confident in order to help her at least a little. I tried to take control for her — that did not work at all. So what remained was cleaning, washing, taking care of her personal hygiene, doctor’s appointments — everything a mother does for her small child, including changing diapers — now reversed. With the difference that a child nourishes the soul with vitality and joy, while my mother, through her suffering, cast a dark veil around herself.
I wished so deeply to see my mother happy — but those moments became rarer and rarer, suffering became ever more dominant, despite psychiatric care, despite the beautiful environment my family and I created for her. And so my meditations became more intense: suffering and death were no longer abstract — they were very real, omnipresent. I learned to love my mother even when she was only rarely “present” anymore in her earthly “dwelling.” I learned to let go of the results of my actions: to be loving, attentive, and mindful without expecting relief or a “reward” in the form of happiness for my mother.
I believe this was and still is the hardest part for me: that I could not alleviate my mother’s suffering. That I could neither ignore it, think it away, nor nurse it away. All my discipline, diligence, strictness, control — nothing helped. All my love, tenderness, and self-sacrifice helped only momentarily, if at all. I feel guilty for not having been able to do better.
Despite the gradual farewell, it hurts that she is now finally gone. I constantly have a lump in my throat. I suffer …
At the same time: I am grateful for it! Because it gives me a new orientation, a new momentum, and an unshakable determination to continue on the path of awakening:
“The path leading to the end of suffering is the path of awakening, which encompasses wisdom, ethical conduct, and mental cultivation.”
Dear friends, if you are reading this — if you even make it to the end of this text in our fast-paced times — turn your attention to true values! love, mindfulness, openness, patience, understanding, tolerance, warmth of heart, generosity … Be kind to one another, even when you hold different views (good solutions can only be found with a clear mind, and clarity arises only from inner peace).
Love yourselves! Love the people! Love life! Respect the planet! Sat Chit Ananda