Death Before Life: Walking Out a Major Life Transition

Death Before Life: Walking Out a Major Life Transition

I experienced it in a series of quiet moments. Walking in the front door in the morning and realizing this would not be “my place” much longer, watching the team execute with competence and compassion but realizing that it wouldn’t continue, and doing routine tasks with an unusual enjoyment but also a sense of finality. Michelle and I had made the decision together. The work was good and valuable and productive, but we both knew that the time had come for something new. It was what I had done for the last six or seven years, my professional identity. And it was ending.

Living with a psychologist I knew the symptoms: grief, loss, a temptation to negotiate an alternate ending. This was the end of a major and fulfilling part of life. A small death.

Life Changes in a Breath

Life Changes in a Breath

Life can change quicker than you can take a breath; sooner than you can finish a thought. I’ve been there many times. Like the time my eyes scanned the computer monitor, willing it to find our baby’s heart beat, but there no longer was one. Please, my heart cried as my womb remained full, but our baby was gone. Or the time when my husband and I sat holding hands, knees touching as we faced the doctor, to be told to get our affairs in order because cancer would claim his life. Or the time no words were said, but the road ahead turned into a sea of red lights; cars and trucks going every which way, and we were powerless to stop it. What do you do then? When pain enters in, and all that is familiar fades away?

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