Even writing that sentence feels surreal. And yet, in the quiet moments—lying in her bed for the first two nights after her passing in that very bed, feeling the echo of her presence—I noticed something unexpected: I’m not as discouraged as I thought I’d be.
There’s a line from the Desert Fathers that’s been haunting me:
“How come you are never discouraged?” “Because every day, I expect to die.”
At first glance, that sounds grim. But I’m starting to see the hidden grace in it.
When you remember that life is finite—not abstractly, but viscerally—you start to edit differently. The petty irritations lose their grip. The ego softens. What’s left is what actually matters: love, connection, presence, truth, justice.
My mom knew this, especially in her later years, as she stood up for what she believed was right, even while her lungs could barely handle any extraneous exhilaration.
Maybe expecting death isn’t about morbidity.
Maybe it’s about clarity.
Because when you stop assuming you have endless tomorrows, today becomes more precious, more vivid, more worth showing up for.
And strangely, that doesn’t make life heavier.
It makes it lighter.
-Chip