“You Don’t Have To Suffer”
Reminders of death, like the loss of Dolly Parton, Gloria Steinem, Wendell Berry and other beloved figures, is a hard thump to the heart. Now in my 70’s, it is impossible for me to ignore, knock on the door.
While boomers go boom, there’s inescapable loss. Among my friends, conversations range from the last surgery to who died. Sometimes we’re sad and then we start chuckling. Maybe it’s nervous laughter or just the joy of being alive. Honestly, on a day like today, struggling with my computer, I think, “beam me up Scotty.” It will be a relief to have no more “to do’s,” like going to the dentist.
This deadline called aging is vulnerable though. I could die today or in ten years. It’s unpredictable and mysterious, like speeding down a steep slope on a sled, feeling alive, but not sure if there’s a big tree stump coming up.
Soon we have The Day of the Dead, Halloween, crucial elections and daylight “savings” time bluntly shortening our daily light. Congress can’t even get that done. Paul Simon wrote it well in his virtual sermon, “The Sounds of Silence” which declares, “Hello darkness my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again.” Oh well, at least we’ll have beer. My favorite, “Death and Taxes” salve, the famous heavy, black brew soothes the soul as we pay the IRS or someone building ballrooms.
Odd memories spill through me. In my lifetime, we cared about freedom and liberty. We were “ten thousand people, maybe more.” What happened to that? Then my mind wanders, should I put away the laundry in case I die unexpectedly? Will my hair be washed that day; will the refrigerator be clean? I hear friends struggling with giving away china dinnerware passed down from parents. I wonder if I should make new goals. There could be time. Legendary comedians George Burns and Bob Hope both died at 100. Humor helps.
Still, death isn’t an upper. I remember the first time I saw death up close. I was scared of walking up to the shiny white coffin lined in red velvet where my dear Dad laid. His forehead, which I managed to touch, was so freezing and stiff. It was jarring and confusing.
He looked so beautiful. He seemed the same as he had days before, talking, vibrating and breathing. Awe seems like a fitting word, but it’s almost useless to capture what I’m trying to say.
I had this intense and convincing sense that he had not really left. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t know what I believe about life after death. But, it was as if all his years of learning, intelligence, passion and compassion, his dry humor – all of it was thick in the air, still there, in the space around us. It seemed as if his essence, his wisdom, the books he read, all of it remained there. I often think that the collective learning we do in life stays in the spheres and we evolve along with it – that whatever was gleaned gets passed on.
It’s difficult to re-live that day, but since I’m next on the treadmill, I feel I must. It’s a reminder of how little time we have to create closure, to care for each other and contribute to this fragile planet.
So, tell your kids to be patient with elder’s mistakes and foibles – one day they will understand. Get out your fluffy slippers for cold nights, recharge flashlights, trim the trees, put pets in your Last Will and Testament for their future care, vote, vote carefully and read Judy Tatelbuam’s sweet book, “You Don’t Have to Suffer” – her mother’s last dying message to her.
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