LIFE’S UNDERTAKINGS

BRAD JONES

Owner, Ridley Funeral Home

Winter Solstice is a special time of year, especially for people like me who spend most of their time in the dark. Bear with me, I will explain.

For Canadians the December 21st solstice heralds the official beginning of winter, a time when darkness rules. Ancient astronomers viewed the sun as “standing still” (the Latin translation of “solstice”) each time the sky delivered its darkest and longest night of the year.

Without Earth’s axial tilt, we would not experience seasons. And as in life, without changing seasons of light and dark, birth and death, we would never balance growth and fear, joy and sorrow, unity and polarity.

Despite the assumption that undertakers work full-time in sunless morgue rooms, we actually spend the majority of our time among the bereaved living; men, women and children whose inner light has been diminished by loss.

Just as Earth tilts us constantly toward more sunlight or more darkness, the seasons of our lives, and the quality of our lives, are shaped by how much light and darkness we cast into the world. There’s a reason why being called a “ray of sunshine” is a compliment and the moniker “dark cloud” is a popularity thumbs-down.

One of the many perks of having so many kids – I have six and yes, my grocery bill is a mortgage – is helping with their homework and revisiting my high school education. I am regularly reminded that I remember next to nothing from the days I was young, skinny, cool, and knew absolutely everything.

My kids’ impossibly difficult astronomy homework taught me about Winter Solstice. And while astronomy is beyond my brain grade, my children’s high-school poetry projects have shown me, in new and beautiful ways, the heavy burdens humans carry.

Each of us is tasked with protecting our inner light from the collective shadow of disappointment, despair and, wait for it, death. What? You forgot poetry was depressing?

“Every man is two men. One is awake in the darkness, the other asleep in the light.” One of my teenagers told me (i.e., grunted at me from behind her phone) that poet Khalil Gibran was reminding us that life’s axial tilts – not getting what we what, disaster striking, our train jumping off track – can either make us better or turn us bitter. Just as all wise parents know, no one truly benefits from being sheltered or spoiled. “Asleep in the light” is living without gratitude or appreciation, falsely believing that darkness will never fall, that a sunny season is eternal, that life is fair, and karma is instant.

Nope.

Resilience, expansion, empathy, compassion, love: all are character traits that deepen when we suffer in the shadows. As we are forced to crawl back into sunshine, our lives are deeply transformed and blessed with grace and growth.

When I look back at some of my life’s greatest moments, they are not exclusively triumphs. Of course, my wife, kids, family and friends are the usual suspects; people have been my long-time sunshine and strength in life. But when I reflect on what really grew me, what ultimately put me on a trajectory toward being a better and kinder man, I remember my mother.

Yes, her life shaped me. Yet it was her dying and death that almost broke me.

I am not alone in my mid-life conclusion that our darkest, longest, coldest, most painful times eventually tilt us toward a fertile and emotionallyrich future.

My mother’s last breath was stretched out over a decade and when that final inhale came, she died knowing I loved her. Mom knew in the marrow of her bones that I would continue to love her until my last breath.

But transformational growth always happens beneath the surface, not hidden under a tombstone but above ground in the lives and hearts we build after loss.

Every season changes. Every soul changes. And every story we tell about our lives must change when our sunny days descend into darkness. (Can you tell the kids have been teaching me about metaphors and philosophy too?)

By gifting ourselves the space to mourn and grieve, we offer ourselves a sacred time of rest and reflection, the epitome of a seasonal change and the heart of every solstice since the beginning of time.

When my mother’s earthly light was extinguished, our family was tasked with a sort of spiritual awakening, a type of sad springtime, as we tilted into brighter days that would not hold my mother’s voice or her laughter. Yet our days and nights would, with time and tears, burn bright with her memory and love.

You might not want to hear this since Death has such a long-time nasty (and unfair) reputation but here goes, some advice from your friendly undertaker: Death’s darkness actually enriches and deepens the brightness of life.

Our personal winters, our dark nights of the (solstice) soul, are not fallow seasons blessing us with nothing. The meaning of life is that it ends, an adage I’ve shared with you before.

We, the legion of the left behind, grow because we loved, were once loved, were abandoned, and now plant a loving legacy from the seeds of memory.

Our triumphs stand shoulder-to-shoulder with our tragedies. But it is the latter, the tragedy of loss and heartbreak, that drags us into the valley of darkness and eventually places us atop a blueskied mountaintop. Just as a night sky can shine ablaze with stars, darkness transmutes suffering into meaning and strength, no matter the season. You know what else I’m relearning from my kids? Greek mythology. Oh, don’t panic. I have no interest in Zeus and Mount Olympus! Let’s talk about my guy Hades, lord of the underworld, who stepped out of the shadows and promptly changed his world and ours.

Hades fell in love with a beautiful maiden, the goddess of flowers, Persephone. (I am reminded of me and my wife’s courtship.) Hades kidnapped Persephone and dragged her below ground, sending the girl’s mother, Demeter, goddess of agriculture, into a fury as she searched and scorched Earth with drought and famine. (Mother-in-laws!) After a year of heartbreak and torment, guess who helped heal poor raging, depressed Demeter? Imagine (or remember) who told this grieving mother where her daughter was: Helios, otherwise known as the sun. Demeter’s greatest, darkest heartbreak was transformed by the loving light above.

Who cares? You do. We all do because we’re blessed and burdened by personal growth seasons. Demeter’s devastation was the mystical catalyst for the creation of Earth’s four seasons.

During spring and summer, Demeter’s daughter was returned, above ground and joyfully reunited with her mother. With the onset of fall and winter, Persephone returns to her gloomy underworld and hot husband. Demeter’s sunny seasons are transmuted into cold darkness.

These seasonal cycles unfold perfectly again and again, forever.

For mere mortals like us, our world spins forward, titling us constantly toward beginnings and endings, forcing us to embrace seasons of joy and seasons of sorrow.

This Winter Solstice consider taking a moment to thank the darkness in your life, the shadows that have forced you to grow and expand so you can overcome and heal. Be gentle with yourself during the dark season. Know that the light you seek, the warmth and comfort you crave, shines within you and above you.

Our darkest night promises us deliverance into our most brilliant and loving triumphs.

Brad Jones is president of locally-owned, commission-free Ridley Funeral Home (3080 Lakeshore Boulevard) in Etobicoke. He loves all four seasons but his favourite time of day is holding space for family and friends to eat a meal while sharing stories. Brad can be reached at 416-259-3705 or by emailing Bradjones@ ridleyfuneralhome.com . Please know that every individual, every family is welcome to gather and grieve at our funeral home.