One of the fundamental concepts Buddhism helps us understand is impermanence.  In many ways, the death of a loved one is the ultimate manifestation of that notion and one that causes humans the deepest type of suffering.

Alternately, death can be viewed as a transformative opportunity for us to appreciate life.  We can use our awareness of death as a constant reminder for us to live fully.  Cherishing each moment whether pleasant or unpleasant.  Seeing the everyday beauty in how things actually are instead of wishing for life to be different than it is.

We experience impermanence constantly in our daily lives even if we don’t recognize it.  Each sentence we speak or type ends in anticipation of the next.  The cells in our body are constantly dying and regenerating new ones.  Hunger arises and then fades when satiated.  A car cuts us off in traffic and we are acutely angered, until that feeling is quickly replaced by a new thought or emotion.

Each and every moment ends, literally giving birth to the next.

Why is it then that we are so uncomfortable and fearful of this most basic law of the universe?

Three years ago, my cousin and close friend Tom Raposo passed away quickly and unexpectedly.  Tom was gregarious, generous and deeply family oriented.  We shared a lot of great experiences and I think he looked up to me, in the way a younger sibling may view an older brother.  He donated thousands of dollars to Rawkstars and many other charitable causes, without looking for recognition.  I respected Tom a great deal and admired him for the way he effortlessly made everyone feel like they were part of his extended family.

Every July 4th, he and his wife Kim opened up their home to celebrate America’s birthday.  Tom had a deep respect and pride in our country, having grown up in a large immigrant family that built a fruitful life here.  These parties became legendary and a highlight of our family calendar.  It brought generations together in the most honest fun, loving, carefree way imaginable.  Endless food, drink and laughter. Kids, grandparents, cousins, neighbors, friends and strangers were all welcomed equally.  We’d all gather around Tom’s pool yard sharing a day we wished would never end in a way that made us feel truly alive.

With that backdrop, it would be easy to mourn this time of year, when Tom is no longer around and the memories of these events float past like ghosts.

Instead, I’m grateful.

Grateful for the opportunity to remember Tom.  To remember how much he was the connective tissue of our family.  In many ways, I can sit and experience him in the same exact way I did when he was alive.  I can see his goateed smile and bald head, eyes hidden behind white sunglasses.  I can feel him standing next to me at the grill cooking quail wearing an American flag bathing suit.  I can hear him yelling at the kids as they dove into the pool one by one to catch the football he would throw to them.

Death is a transition, not an ending.  Energy cannot be destroyed, only transformed.  Just because I cannot touch and see Tom, it doesn’t mean I cannot connect with him or that he is no longer impacting me.  It doesn’t even mean we are no longer friends or cousins. We still are.

A cloud materializes when the causes and conditions are just right and then dissipates when those conditions change.  Leaves fall from the tree to make room for new life.  They in turn feed the soil which nourishes the tree itself, continuing the cycle of endless transformation and connection of all things.

I’m thankful that I had many years with Tom and that he continues to impact me every July 4th, just as he did when he was alive.