Yesterday was the last funeral service for my Japanese grandmother-in-law. Families and friends gathered to honor her memory and offered prayers and incense as the Buddhist priest chanted the sutras. Grandma looked serene and beautiful in her lilac-colored kimono that accentuated her gentle features. She rested peacefully in her pristine white casket as if she were taking a serene nap. Before we sealed Grandma's casket to send her for cremation, we filled her casket with beautiful flowers, letters from families and friends, and her favorite meal, "kabocha" or pumpkin. We moistened her lips with water, a practice known as the water of the last moment (末期の水, matsugo-no-mizu). It was a solemn and reverent ceremony honoring and remembering her life and appreciating her wonderful works when she was alive.
At 98 years old, Grandma still woke up early every day to tend to her garden, planting both vegetables and flowers after breakfast. I missed her fresh produce. She was a hardworking woman. She had excellent eyesight for her age. She read the newspaper every day without eyeglasses and she could still sew. What was her secret? Probably, a big factor that contributed to her good eyesight was her love of eating "kabocha" or pumpkin. She loved eating and it brought me joy to watch her enjoying my prepared meals. And she loved to play with my daughter. My daughter will not remember the precious moments with her but I could show her some photos and videos of her great-grandmother. I will always remember great moments with her even if she is not anymore with us.
Life is uncertain, death is certain.
Death is a reality that we all have to face. It is an inevitable part of life, and we should live our lives with this knowledge in mind. It can come at any time, so it's important to remember that our time on earth is limited.
In the end, these things matter most: How well did you love? How fully did you live? How deeply did you let go?
The length of our lives doesn't matter nearly as much as the quality of the time we spend here. Personally, I hope to live a longer life so that I can enjoy more time with my loved ones, especially my one-year-old daughter. However, life is unpredictable, and I could be taken away at any moment, leaving my family and friends behind. In that case, I would like them to remember me for the positive impact I made on their lives and the good memories we shared together.
It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.
And that makes me fiercely committed to living with Areté, which means expressing the best version of myself in my work and to my loved ones moment to moment, every day. When my time comes, and I am no longer here, I hope to hear and read in the eulogies and letters from my family and friends, how I inspired their lives and helped them become better individuals.
Memento Mori. Remember Death. Remember the preciousness of Life. Live it with Areté.
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