Parenting in a Memento Mori World
So just what is memento mori, you ask? The Latin really says it all: remember that you [have to] die. Pondering our mortality has been around since the Roman times, and I doubt that they had it any better off than we do now, but it sure does feel like I am pondering more and more these days. Sometimes I parent scared, and others I parent while I look away from the world's tragedies so I just can make it through one more day.
Sure reflecting on death and its inevitable arrival may seem morbid or maybe even a bit basic — after all, death is life's simplest truth — but the practice of memento mori is not about being sad or giving up. And although these days our American culture feels littered with reminders of our mortality, it is really about what we do next that matters.
"You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think." - Marcus Aurelius.
The tragedies don't seem to stop, and it's getting exhausting living this memento mori life. In the wake of another heart-wrenching school shooting, we kiss our babies and hold them extra tight - if we are lucky enough to. We are grateful for them and infuse them with our love. But we are also reminded of just how helpless we are to protect them - the ones we love with more than just our hearts, our whole entire beings.
The modern world has a way of throwing us into the practice of memento mori, whether we like it or not - constantly bombarded with reminders of life's limits. My (just as important) mental health work is overshadowed by ever-constant reminders that my kids are not safe, creating an underlying anxiety that I just can't shake.
I should not have to worry that they will not make it home from school, or get into a car with another teen who has been drinking. I should not have to worry that an intense bout of depression will hit, and they decide to end it all instead of asking for help. But I do. I worry. Because these things happen to families every day.
And these are the many pebbles we carry as parents. Unlike the treasured finds of toddlerhood, these rocks we can't unload onto the dresser, our pockets becoming heavier and heavier, and just full.
Life is precious and fleeting, and it's my job to keep my kids safe — and it's feeling harder and harder to do that these days.
And so I rely on the action memento mori spurs. Appreciating what I have and holding tight to the hope that love will always prevail — and letting that love dictate my next move.
Of course, if you are a long-time reader, you will probably guess that my first move is to let the feeling of gratefulness wash over me. Memento mori can be a deep and introspective way to reflect on the impermanence of things, which I think produces instant gratitude. You can't help but feel grateful for your kids as they tumble off the bus, for your garden as it bears fruit, and for your partner as they grab their coffee and run out the door.
Small moments become big, and things that didn't seem important crystalize before our eyes — gorgeous in their simplicity because they are so fleeting. But I don't think it stops there either. Because the next action I am inspired to is savor: to hold my children close and take in their smell, to bite into a deep dark juicy tomato, and to grab my partner and run my fingers through his hair.
I refuse to accept that hugging my children a little extra each day and feeling that love does not change the world - it does.
Of course, that change takes time. And so I also need to do something now, and maybe you do too? And so, I hope that you will join me in advocating for gun control in whatever way you may seem fit. I support the non-profit Moms Demand Action, and I wear orange on June 3 - 5th, and I commit to doubling down on love.
These may seem like small pieces of a much bigger pie, but it's what I can do. I hope you can find a moment to reflect and feel grateful AND to act. Our kids and our world need both.
We do not know when it will end or how, so while we are here, we must cherish the moments that enrich and fulfill and do everything we can to protect them too.
I do not get discouraged. I keep hope alive. I keep cherishing this one precious life, and I hope you can too.