Death as Teacher

My yoga teacher likes to conclude each class with shavasana, the 'corpse pose.' She makes the point that we want our death to be one of repose where we feel calm, at peace with our passing, satisfied that we have lived the best life we could have done. But, how in the world do we do that? Can we possibly live our lives in such a way that we don't miss saying goodbye to someone special? Or, can we avoid the prospect of leaving this earth on less than the best terms with someone?

Death is supposed to be the greatest teacher. I always liked my 'best teachers,' but death doesn't seem to fit. I have seen pieces of it in my own life, those that come immediately to mind—losing my parents, my sister, my brother-in-law. None of that made me like death, of course. I know we learn the important lesson of impermanence most clearly with death, but we immediately (at least I did) return to denying it. Then friends begin to die, or nearly do. What are we to do with that?

Platitudes about maintaining nearly perfect relationships with all those who are important to us in this life aren't realistic. We are human after all and will fail more than we will succeed, I am afraid. As long as we take breath, we will be imperfect, even with the best of intentions.

Further, people of all ages die, probably before reaching that perfect understanding that death was supposed to provide. At least, I can't see that their own deaths are the teachers, right? I assume it's other people's deaths that are supposed to be our 'best teachers.' It's a little too late to teach me if I'm the one that is dead.

On the surface, I can also understand that the death of a person who reaches a certain age is a cause for celebrating a life well-lived, and not a tragic loss. But we mourn almost all the losses, especially our contemporaries. They have been important to us, and we miss them. No avoiding it.