“Memento Mori.”

It’s an appeal from the Stoic tradition of philosophy, one that’s meant to keep us mindful of the fact of our frailty, our finality. Not a morbid exercise, the practice is intended instead to make us savor life all the more.

In May of this year, Jen Newberg was on vacation with her husband in Greece. On the fourth night of their getaway, Jack accurately diagnosed the chest pains that had emerged without warning.

“He said ‘I think I’m having a heart attack,’” said Jen barely a few months later. On their remote island, emergency assistance was slow to arrive. It was an episode that would end Jack’s life at age 49.

In the immediate wake of that nightmare, his wife had to contend with the logistics of bringing Jack back home to Natick. There was the U.S. Embassy to consult with, an airline flight to arrange. All the hassles of travel to contend with, all somehow made miniscule yet magnified through the lens of her loss.

“Just kind of navigating all that,” said Jen. “I was in over my head with all the things you have to do when someone dies.”

There were memorial services, through which the family’s community showed its support. At the John Everett & Sons Funeral Home, “There were about 650 people at the wake,” said Jen. “Everyone from every aspect of his life.”

For some, quickly turning and returning to work is a form of therapy in coping with crisis. Immersing oneself in a busy existence seems to occupy some portion of emotional bandwidth, crowding out and carving out space for something besides sorrow.

Jen discovered she’s not one of those people.

“I went back to work very quickly after Jack had passed.” Six weeks later, she went to the emergency room in the throes of a panic attack.

“They really helped me understand what was going on,” she said of the hospital staff. Her employer at the Boys & Girls Club, where she’d worked in public relations, were empathetic. They supported her as she took short-term disability and a leave of absence from the organization.

Part of that healing process included a wellness retreat, where she experienced how common community and purpose could be a balm.

Jen organized an informal support group for people who have likewise lost a spouse. Those weekly meetings at the Common Street Spiritual Center drew on her experience of planning events as a public relations professional.        

Life and luck, good and bad, choose our communities for us. That fateful night weeks ago and thousands of miles away now brought Jen to this stage of life, this group of people, around this shared experience.

She created a website, gave a name to her fledgling organization, “It’s Lifey.” The support group’s tagline is “Find Your People.” The weekly support sessions were supplemented by more intimate and informal meetups at Sweetwater, a local coffee shop that neighbors the Common Street Spiritual Center.

All this and her experience at the retreat got her to thinking.

“What if I planned my own retreat?” Unlike the one she’d very recently participated in, Jen imagined a getaway, a gathering, geared toward a tribe of people who’d lost spouses. “I had about 19 different ideas of what it could be,” said Jen.

The week we spoke in July would end in the first “It’s Lifey” retreat, hosted in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. 

“That’s when I realized that this is my passion. I consider myself a community builder. The antidote for loneliness is community.”

Memento Mori — remember death. The true translation? The real meaning and message of the mantra? Remember to live.

We live in community. Doing so fully means embracing another refrain. Memento Amori. Remember to love.