The Eternal Embrace: Birth, Death, and the Forgotten Self

We war within. Minds caught between fulfillment and meaning, being and existence. Forgetting this lived experience is as brief as a spark released from a fire, cooling into dry, blackened ash that blows with the wind. We pursue. Strive. Chase. Consume. Searching for meaning. Separating ourselves from the reality of the present, opting for remembrance of the past and anxious foresight of the future. Warring, ever warring. Playing regrets off of stress, as if the Sun and Moon both fight to dominate the sky rather than fall within their places to bring structure and harmony to the world below. And yet, dissatisfaction remains. 

A longing within the breast pulls with incessant aching, like a Siren’s call toward certain obliteration. Despite the fear of mortality, we heed the beckoning call, entranced by its soft cooing. Not recognizing the bony, upturned finger slowly curling, signaling our march toward the cold embrace of death himself. A kiss on the lips as his sardonic smile engulfs our vision. Hearts pounding with terror as our blood turns cold. The slow realization of our demise. We attempt to run, yet too late. And then, nothing. The formless void. Blackness. As if reentering the womb, and then, stillness. A silence that stretches beyond memory.

Too quickly we forget ourselves—the smiling, bubbling consciousness that emerges from the womb, exuding the essence of life. We laugh, we cry, we pull our mother’s hair, searching aimlessly for the breast that gives life. We suckle, spit, and soil ourselves without worry or care. Desperate wailing rises with discomfort as the warm embrace reels us in. We roll over, eyes lit with wonder, staring at an impossible world. Life enters our eyes, screaming the abundance of its beauty. Entranced, we push up to hands and knees, testing our strength. Steady. Then rocking. With slow, deliberate aim, we lift a shaky hand and place it in front of us, then a knee. Another hand. The other knee. We crawl. Our newfound freedom, wrapped in the rolls of skin and fat, belies the movement of our bodies. Rosy, chubby cheeks lightened by our smile. 

Towering objects capture our attention. We raise a hand. Grasp the ledge. Muscles tense with an unfamiliar strain, and then a push. We rise. Slowly. Wobbling and unsteady. We stand elated, a beaming smile breaking across our face as we slap the tabletop in delight. We move around the table, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Letting go, we test our balance, our legs shaking unsteadily as we once again reach for security. The release becomes more frequent. We take a few uncharted steps and fall. Tears well in our eyes as we turn to look for comfort. We rise again. Arms upraised for balance, we walk. We run. 

Speech dribbles from pouty lips as we toss incoherent babbling into the atmosphere. Suddenly, words form—first one, then another. Soon, an onslaught of language pours forth from our mouths: “I love you.” “That’s mine.” We race. We jump. We scream. Understanding creeps upon us—slowly at first—and then like an avalanche thundering down a mountainside. Trusting, ever trusting, we accept what we’re told without question. Then, we experience our first betrayal. The cognitive dissonance isn’t understood; it’s embodied. It sinks deep into our subconscious, melding with the fibers of our being, forming a structural support system for each experience thereafter. Yet, life’s overwhelming beauty continues to capture our attention. 

Playfulness bursts from our untamed minds. The world is open, ready to be conquered. Friendships form. Sides are taken. Alliances are forged amidst branches of trees, broken by lunchtime, and reforged within the confines of a blanket fort. Selfishness dissolves as quickly as it’s born, replaced by sudden, unguarded generosity. Challenges are issued. Trouble brews in white lies told with unabashed passion. Learning. Education. Cooties. Memories formed. Pre-adolescence occupies the mind with worry about what others think. Heartache is truly felt with the first experience of death. The emotional volatility of our caretakers instills a sense of uncertainty and the beginnings of mistrust in those we look up to. Puberty hits us like an onslaught of fire mixed with frost. Confusion sets in—the beauty of life shifting from wonderment to untrusting scrutiny and back again. A first kiss. Embarrassment of the first kiss. Fist fights. Broken friendships. We lay in the darkness of night, blankets over our heads, with nothing but silence and tears to console us, too ashamed to let anyone in on our suffering. 

Testosterone and estrogen surge through our bodies. We see the world in a different light. Beauty takes on a new meaning. Rivalries ignite as we compete for attention and a sense of belonging. Fear-filled mornings in front of the mirror, primping and preening, a ritualistic performance to find acceptance. Hair gel. Curls. Muscles. Subtle maturity igniting into flames. We sit behind the wheel of our parents’ car as they over-explain each maneuver and rule, anxiety barely held at bay, visible only in the wrinkling of their brow and tightening of voice. Despite our insecurity, we get hired for our first job, pimple-faced and all. New friendships are formed. Life is ever at our fingertips. We make love for the first time. Scared. Excited. Confused. Our first foray into alcohol ends in the bathroom, vomiting, our stomachs heaving as the weight of adulthood settles in with the hangover. 

With high school over, we head off to college or into the workforce. Most childhood friendships are lost to distance, to new beliefs, to growing apart. A new tribe is formed. New thoughts emerge. We begin to see the world in a different light. Life is not what we thought it was, yet it’s the same as it’s always been. Exciting. Exhilarating. Painful. Leaving wounds that never fully heal, and scars that constantly remind us of our frailty. We push the hurt down, the heartache. We cover the anger, resentment, and shame with new experiences, pretending we’re okay, laughing at parties, and jumping at concerts, even though the foundation of our soul cracks beneath us. 

After swearing off love at the cost of another heartbreak, we stand in stunned silence, captivated by the eyes of our future soulmate. A flurry of dates and lovemaking ushers us to our wedding day, standing nervously, hand-in-hand, reciting vows, eyes only for each other. Whether by candle flame, by ribbon, or by sand poured as one, a ritual of unity is performed. Then, the rings are placed. Until death do us part. The kiss. A recognition that we are no longer our own. We fight. Make up. Fight again. Make up again. A monthly cycle is missed. Excitement and insecurity ensue as a sonogram reveals the tiny life growing within. The crib, toys, and room are prepped. The day approaches as quiet anticipation fills our hearts. Suddenly, a rush of water followed by searing pain. Fear sets in. Pushing like never before begins as hands clasp tightly, accompanied by quiet, gentle, and encouraging words. In time, a tiny, helpless body emerges as the cycle begins again. Little fingers. Tiny toes. A reminder of everything good, though the questioning mind forgets, turning cynical with each passing year. 

A year or two goes by, followed by another pregnancy. Several months in, we experience disappointment. Tears flood our eyes. Pain like nothing we’ve felt before enters our hearts. Time goes by slowly, then another pregnancy. Another birth. Another child enters the world, consciousness bubbling, gurgling in human form. We try our hand at something new. Fail. Try again. Fail again. Begin to settle. Wisps of grey begin to adorn our hair. We attempt to hide it the best we can, striving to hold the reminder of our mortality at bay. Each morning, we check the mirror, the corners of our eyes and mouth lined with quiet reminders of time’s passing. The sagging skin, muscle soreness, and joint pain begin to take hold. Questions of relevance and legacy occupy our minds. We ask ourselves, “What is my legacy?”. Our children grow. We watch in awe as they develop through the very stages we fumbled through ourselves. One part comical, another filled with frustration and anxiety. With every passing day, we see more and more of our parents in ourselves, just as we see ourselves in our children. We curse the thought, even as we surrender to its inevitability. 

Suddenly, birds become more real to us than ever before. We feel the potency of nature. Somewhere, deep within, we feel the calling, the longing for it, but refuse to answer. We stand in silence, staring at the mountains, ocean, or an open field, contemplating our place within the world and our eventual departure. Did we do enough? Have we wasted our time, our lives? How do we prepare our children for the onslaught they’re about to face? Before we know it, we’re giving them driving lessons and watching them graduate from high school and college. We cry on their wedding day, then exult in another birth. The cycle begins again, and tiny hands course over our now creased and lined face. 

Caution seeps into our bones. We move more slowly, unconcerned by the pressures of life, yet more intentional in how we live it. Minds hardened by tragedy and turmoil, while hearts soften with an intense understanding of the universal pain and suffering we all endure. We watch as our children flourish through their middle years, our grandkids growing faster than we can believe. Time dilates. We watch friends slowly step into the afterlife, one illness, accident, or closing of the eyes at a time. Catching our reflection in the mirror reminds us that our youthful exuberance is contained in a waning, dying form. Each day is one step closer to death's door. We close our eyes at night only to see him peeking from the shadows, biding his time, sitting on the edge of our bed, softly cooing to us—enticing in its melancholy form. 

With achy bones and muscles that refuse to work as they once did, we review our lives, wondering what it was all for. Ready to embark on a new journey, yet afraid to leave this world behind. We sit in our chairs or lie in our beds, alone or clasping the hand of a loved one. Our eyes close, and we drift into a world of wonder. They open slightly, and we smile to ourselves. We take another breath and close them again, caught in the rapture and interplay of a world beyond sight, a world unremembered, and one in which we’ve experienced love, heartache, peace, and loss. All the while, a gentle cooing wafts across our minds—an invitation to move beyond. We realize, almost too late, that in our misplaced striving, our search for meaning and purpose, we forgot ourselves. In these final moments, we begin to truly understand that the only thing that matters, the only bit of meaning, is living life—embracing the ups and downs, crying when we need to cry, laughing when we need to laugh, and comforting when we need to comfort. It was never about money, position, or relevance. It was about being with the people we love when we’re with the people we love. As we fade in and out of memory, we give a final squeeze, a little smile, take a long breath in, and release with excited acceptance. 

Death reaches an outstretched hand. We take hold of it as he draws us into a warm embrace, walking hand-in-hand to the other side. Every once in a while, we look back to see our family, tears streaking their cheeks in grief. Yet, we smile. Whisper a prayer. Then we’re gone. Unperturbed about how quickly we forget ourselves.

Until next time…

Josiah