Memento Mori: The Ancient Reminder That Found Me in a Small Parish Church in Poland
A personal story of grief, presence, and the meaning of memento mori . Where light passes, grief softens its edges. Calm grows quietly. One day you realise you’re no longer moved by the wrong things. You stop rushing. You stop clinging. You start seeing life as it is: fragile, temporary, astonishing. This is the heart of memento mori — the old Stoic reminder that we are mortal, and therefore our time is precious. For most people, memento mori is a philosophical idea. For me, it became personal. It found me not in a book, but in a small parish church in Poland — the church where my Mum is buried, and where a strange old painting has watched me since childhood. The Painting on the Wall On the outer wall of my parish church, as I mention it recently in my last post [ Memento Mori: A Stoic Reminder to Live With Intention ] there is a memento mori painting. I grew up with it. As a child, I didn’t understand it. I only knew it looked a bit eerie, and very much mysterious. I have memories of...
