Contemplating death and forgiveness has allowed me to live better now: Point of View

When I moved back to Rustico, P.E.I., last year, I reconnected with an old friend. We had hung out a lot after I finished university, but then life took us on different paths. She eventually married and moved out of the village.

Recently my friend shared that when she dies, she still wants to be buried in North Rustico.

"Do you think that talk is morbid?" my friend asked.

"Not at all," I replied. 

"That's where home is," my friend explained. 

Later, when left on my own, my friend's words got me thinking about those two concepts: home and death. It brought forth a mosaic of thoughts, awareness and memories.

After my father died decades ago, I was very angry with him. For it was only after his death that I learned of all the secrets he had held from us, his family, especially those regarding his sexuality. My father was gay and had lived a closeted life. He had lived a lie. I began to question what else he had lied about.

With the exception of his actual burial, I rarely visited his grave. I was lost.

'Time for me to truly contemplate death'

A year-and-a-half ago, my marriage broke up. I remained at our family home in St. Catherines for the first year, but then moved out. Leaving our home added another degree of separation to my life. I loved my family; I loved my home.

And, there was another level of severance — our animals are buried there. I have always believed that home is where you want to be buried; it's where you bury your pets.

The ritual began with our first lab, Moody Dog. When the time came that the family knew we had to put him down, I went to the far end of our property and dug a grave. Moody Dog had slowly followed me back through the field, and he lay beside me while I broke up the earth. It was as if our old dog knew this place was for him. It was a beautiful experience. Since then, many other family pets have been laid to rest there as well. It remains a very special place for me.

'Accepting death encourages us to live.— Adrian Smith

I knew what home meant; now, it was time for me to truly contemplate death. I knew I had been avoiding the matter, however, I believed that the process, like all truths, would be freeing.

I learned accepting death is totally different than welcoming death. Accepting death reminds us how to live our lives. When we accept death, we begin to live with the wonder of experiencing each day as a new day, and with the passion that it might be our last.

Accepting death encourages us to grow and change — accepting death encourages us to live.

'The places I have truly lived'

Whenever asked where I would like my own ashes to be spread, the answer had always come readily — Brackley Beach, St. Catherines, the Barachois, Strathgartney and the Bonshaw Hills Trails, Rustico Harbour, and perhaps a little part of me might be spread in Ireland. Why? Because these are the places where I have truly lived, where I have felt most alive.

A lot has changed since my father's burial on the day I turned 27. I have changed. After leaving St. Catherines, I found myself living back in Rustico, not far from where my parents are buried. It was during the lockdown phase of COVID-19, and I had a lot of time on my hands. Many days my dog Nelly and I would walk to my childhood church, and oftentimes we would stop to visit my parents' grave.

The truth is I have forgiven my father. I have forgiven myself for judging him. I have learned to let things go. I visit his burial plot not because his bones lay there — I visit because of an acceptance of how I wish to live my life.

If asked today where I would like my ashes spread, the answer remains the same; however, with one addition. I now add that I would be honoured to have some of my ashes spread beside my parents' grave, because now, it would feel like home.

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