What Running Taught Me About Death
“We meet but briefly in life. If we touch each other with stardust, that is everything.”
My grandmother passed away around 10 AM on June 28th, 2019. She died surrounded by her husband, three children and one grandson (this one) at her home in Bonita Springs, Florida.
Throughout the day, the mood was somber. Family members and friends filtered in to pay their respects. Quiet prayers were recited. Soft cries echoed through Kleenex and shirt sleeves.
I sat there in the corner, silently.
Minutes turned into hours. People came and went. There were tears and stories and anecdotes and more tears.
Yet I still sat silently.
I remember thinking, “What is wrong with me? Why don’t I feel anything? This woman loved me unconditionally for 32 years and I can’t even muster one tear?”
Suddenly I was struck with guilt. Overwhelming guilt at what I seemingly wasn’t able to feel. I needed to leave and quickly.
So I went for a run.
Finding meaning in movement
I’ve always loved how running makes me feel.
The movements of the body, both subtle and substantial. The clarity of mind, the determination of heart. Running strips away distraction and gives me focus to collect my thoughts.
As the miles ticked by on that warm summer afternoon, I thought about a lot of things. I wondered if my grandmother knew how much she was loved at the end. I think she did.
I thought about what this might mean for our family. We just lost our matriarch, our rock. I hoped we would come together stronger in the ensuing months, living as she taught us. I think we have.
I thought about how blessed I am. I haven’t had much experience with loss. I’m not naive to think things will remain this way forever, but I’ll give thanks while I can.
I thought about how beautiful the world was at that very moment. The way the wind whipped through the trees. The way the clouds came together, signaling the oncoming rain. The way the sunlight pierced the sky when the rain stopped. The way the earth felt under my feet as I pushed forward, one foot at a time.
I thought about my grandmother, and how much I would miss her. I thought about her smile, her gracious nature, her way of making you feel like the most special person in the world.
Running has a unique ability to put life’s beauty on full display. And nothing helps us appreciate this beauty more than death.
Finding beauty in death
Death signals life’s impermanence.
It reminds us that our time on this blue marble floating through space is fleeting. We are lucky to have lived as long as we have, for tomorrow is not promised. No matter how much we struggle, no matter how much we resist, we cannot fend off death’s inevitability. Nothing lasts forever.
But it is in this impermanence that beauty is found.
Everything is more beautiful because we are ultimately doomed. That each moment could be our last. It’s why we feel most alive when we’re doing the things we love doing with the people we love most.
Death is the grand facilitator behind meaningful experience. And meaningful experience is beautiful.
Coming to terms
As I rounded the corner onto Olde Cottage Lane, I could see my grandparents’ house up ahead. I slowed down to take one final look around before heading inside.
A subtle smile crossed my face.
After 6 miles of uninterrupted reflection, I was overcome with gratitude and appreciation.
I thought about the fantastic life my grandmother led. The people she helped, the family she built. I thought about our trips overseas, constantly searching for keys, and all the wonderful memories we made.
I felt like when my emotions eventually do bubble over (they did), I will think fondly of the life my grandmother lived instead of the circumstances in which she died.
That brought me peace, just like she would have wanted.
I love you Grandma and I miss you.
Scott Mayer is a runner, thinker, curious observer and certified personal trainer.
Photo courtesy of Guille Pozzi on Unsplash