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 staring at it with the kind of curiosity only children have — wondering why anyone would paint something so scarry on a church wall.
Back then, it was just a strange picture.
Now, decades later, I walk past it often. My Mum’s grave is next to the church, so every visit brings me face‑to‑face with that same painting. The colours have faded, the wall has weathered, but the message is still there: remember you must die.
And recently — quietly, slowly — the painting has started to mean something new.
Grief Changes How You See Everything
It has been more than a year since my Mum died. For a long time, the thought of her absence felt impossible to hold. It was too sharp, too unreal, too heavy. Grief in the first year is like walking through fog with stones in your pockets.
But something has shifted.
I’m not “over it.” I’m not “moving on.” I’m simply adjusting — gently, almost imperceptibly — to the reality that she is no longer among us.
It feels like snow settling. Quiet. Soft. Natural.
And that old painting, the one I once laughed about with my auntie Lucyna, has become part of that adjustment. It’s no longer strange. It’s familiar. It’s almost comforting.
It reminds me that memento mori isn’t a threat. It’s a companion.
What the Stoics Really Meant
The Stoics weren’t obsessed with death. They were obsessed with living well.
To them, memento mori wasn’t morbid. It was clarifying.
It helped them:
focus on what truly matters
let go of trivial worries
live with presence
act with courage
appreciate the people they loved
Marcus Aurelius ( read about him in my post — "Marcus Aurelius: A Portrait in Crisis, Clarity, and Character") wrote: “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.”
He didn’t write this to frighten himself. He wrote it to wake himself.
And perhaps that’s what memento mori does for us too — especially when grief has already opened the door.
When Philosophy Meets Reality
It’s one thing to read about mortality. It’s another to stand in front of a grave of your loved one and feel it.
When memento mori becomes personal, it changes shape. It stops being an idea and becomes a lens through which you see the world.
You begin to notice:
how precious time is
how fragile relationships are
how quickly life changes
how important small moments become
how unnecessary most worries truly are
Grief teaches you what the Stoics tried to explain: life is short, but meaning is long.
The Triad: The Church, the Painting, the Grave
There is something symbolic about the geography of my grief:
the church wall with the memento mori painting
my Mum’s grave beside it
my own footsteps returning again and again
It creates a kind of triangle — philosophy, memory, and love.
The Stoics would say this is exactly how memento mori is meant to work: not as a fear, but as a guide.
It helps you understand loss not as a disappearance, but as a transformation — from presence to memory, from physical closeness to emotional inheritance.
How Memento Mori Helps Us Live Today
We live in a world full of noise, speed, and subtle pressure. We scroll endlessly. We rush constantly. We forget how fragile everything is.
Memento mori cuts through the noise.
It reminds us:
to slow down
to choose what matters
to stop postponing joy
to speak gently
to forgive quickly
to live honestly
to be present
It’s not about obsessing over death. It’s about honouring life.
A Gentle Modern Practice
You don’t need skulls, rituals, or dramatic reminders. A modern memento mori practice can be soft and humane.
Here is one that works for me:
Morning: “If today were my last, how would I show up?”
Midday: A 30‑second pause. A breath. A moment of presence.
Evening: “Did I spend my time on what matters?”
Weekly: “If I had one year left, what would I change?”
This isn’t about fear. It’s about alignment.
The Paradox at the Heart of Memento Mori
Here is the quiet truth the Stoics understood:
When you remember you must die, life expands.
Colours become richer. Conversations become deeper. Moments become more vivid. You stop sleepwalking through your days. You stop postponing joy. You stop waiting for permission to live.
Memento mori isn’t a whisper of doom. It’s a whisper of truth.
A Closing Thought
I didn’t expect an old painting on a church wall to become part of my healing. I didn’t expect it to help me adjust to my Mum’s absence. I didn’t expect it to feel comforting.
But grief changes how you see everything. And sometimes, the reminders we once feared become the reminders we need.
Memento mori isn’t about death. It’s about life — honest, fragile, beautiful life.
When you remember you must die, you finally begin to live.
Comments
Post a Comment