Getting Ready To Die

No, as far as I know, it’s not imminent, but you never know. An awful lot of people are checking out in the seventh decade that I just began in February, with undoubtedly more to come. Statistics, after all. Seven of my ten maternal relatives made it into their nineties - the last remaining aunt turns ninety-eight in December - and two made it to a hundred. On the other hand, my father and grandfather only got sixty-six years, so I've bested them by four.

Various doctor's examinations, including emergency room reviews for what turned out to be false alarms, have indicated that other than the pacemaker that Lyme disease gifted me twenty-three years ago, I'm in pretty good shape. Surprise! because I know how I've mistreated this meat that makes me "Me." Regardless, I expect my personal extinction will happen sometime over the next thirty years. And I don't believe in the Supernatural: no Other-Judgement, no reward, no punishment, no do-over any more than for any other being on this planet. I’d prefer my end to be not-unpleasant and I'm unsure whether I'd prefer a conscious, or unconscious exit, but there's rarely a choice involved. Que sera.

My first personal, emotional recognition of death's implications occurred at my maternal grandmother's funeral in 1967 when she was 84 and I was 14. Somehow I came to the understanding that she had once been younger and birthed my mother, aunts, and uncles; one girl-child grew older, and birthed me; that meant that someday my mother would herself grow older and... eventually die. But wait: I was a child, and children grow up, and I suddenly realized that eventually we all grow old and..!  I experienced decades of late night anxiety among the adventures and tragedies of Growing Up.

I don't think that religion, which comforts so many, ever "took" in me because I was learning my Catholic catechism at the same time very-early-reader me was learning about Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Norse and Hindu legends and myths, so the Judeo-Christian realms after death appeared likewise just the legends and myths of the Middle East, like Valhalla or the Elysian Fields in other regions. l learned about the Indian and Buddhist belief in reincarnation, but my observation of the Natural World indicated that while there is a Circle of Life and Death, the organized matter we call “Life,” once broken down into its basic elements, does not come back as the same conscious life or reincarnate to give it another go. Fear, hopes, and dreams do not reality make.

Around this time I learned about Taoism (a naturistic philosophy, not a religion) with its advice to accept one’s self as a part of Nature, to recognize that consciousness exists only in the Here and Now, and the recommendation that one should “go with the flow” through life’s challenges. This perspective affected me deeply and has given me a modicum of peace as I’ve grown older. “Seasons don't fear the reaper, nor do the wind, the sun, or the rain,” after all. 

So there is no inherent "meaning" to life. Then, what's the point? It’s a short trip when compared to any geologic or cosmological time-scale. However, if you ask the wrong question, any answer given may itself be meaningless. The point seems to me that, having won the lottery of sperm and egg and survival, we have received the opportunity to create meaning as a personalized monument, temporary though it may be. Our society suggests numerous strategies to do so, many involving pleasing others or leaving some sort of “mark” on the world. Many of those efforts can be pleasantly socially productive, while others can be callous and selfish. But eventually, if we are not psychopaths, we are called to Self-Judgement.

“Was it good enough?” According to whom? History does not seem to provide any social measure that is set in stone. “Compared to what?” Ultimately, all we have are our own life experiences that occur in a swirl of competing cultures that we may address with our particular inclinations and talents. Or not. The Universe requires nothing of us.

Some consider this sort of introspection and conversation morbid. I myself see it as a type of meditation, albeit a somber one. As I review my life’s successes and failures, I note that when I offended others it was rarely deliberate, but almost always a result of my own short-sighted and narrow ignorance and the absence of effective role-modeling as a youth as to how to manage my anger. Most of my disappointments are for things that I did not do, that I could have done. And I have to admit to some envy of other’s deeds while recognizing not having done some things as My Own Damn Fault. Poor self-initiative, focus, and inconsistency are solely on me.

But overall I have been well-Blessed by the circumstances of my life. I have been privileged, and comfortable, and without being too prideful, I think I have Done Well For Others, and am growing in Kindness. Even though I talk too damn much. I have largely had the opportunity to enjoy my life. Though I am not at all religious, I admire this prayer: “”To those I may have wronged, I ask forgiveness. To those I may have helped, I wish I could have done more. To those I neglected to help, I am truly sorry and ask for understanding. To those who helped me, I am deeply Grateful.”

I hope that as my Light fades I can lay back and think, “Veni, Vidi, Contentus Sum.”I Came; I Saw; I am Satisfied. Then let it go, and never know it again.

Cold Passages,
and Warm

The two items I read first in the local paper every morning are the police beat, and the obituaries. I have for the most part lived in the same area for forty-seven years (minus perhaps six, in various configurations), and it is not unusual to recognize names on either list. Friends, neighbors, co-workers, clients. It is generally better to show up on the legal list than on the mortal. However, this morning, it was the latter.

She did in fact work at the same agency as do I; I instantly recognized her name. I have been employed there for 22 years, she, not quite that long, but long enough. Her age was listed, only three years older than me.

I knew her name, but I realized, with some shock, that I had no face for her.

We are an agency employing just shy of one thousand people spread across a county with a population of 182,742, but our two main offices are just a few blocks from each other in one modest city. Plus, C.D., rest her soul, worked in our accounting office, one of the most central functions of any sizable business. Not only did I have no face for the woman, but I didn't even know that she had left her position, as I found out, over a year ago!

This is a sad commentary on, at least, our business culture, if not our culture at large. We marginally know our neighbors, or our co-workers. Even our families and friends are spread over geographical distances, and more and more often, it seems that the primary events that bring us together are funerals. Even twenty years ago, at another agency, for which I worked in the same field, people from different departments and allied service providers would at least get together at specific taverns for happy hour on payday, or invite each other to our agency's Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. But now, there's no time, or no interest, or even a kind of tribal separation: 'you stay in your department, I'll stay in mine.' Productive cooperation has suffered accordingly.

Hopefully, my agency is more unique as regards this decline in civil congress, but I suspect that our society continues to atomize in this brave new world. I consider it a loss, despite the freedoms of anonymity. A person has left this mortal coil, a name, published in newstype, is erased, and I am left not with sadness, but bemusement. Stronger emotions depend on relationships.

Nevertheless, rest in peace, C.D.

****************************************************************************
In the same theme, I took my lunch yesterday at a little storefront Chinese restaurant on a cool, damp, and gray day , enjoying a plate of Hunan Walnut Chicken with pork-fried rice and hot tea. A woman with a cane and a headscarf limped by the large window, then returned, and entering the dining nook, greeted me. My mental processes paused before I recognized her. She is the partner of one of the fellows with whom I monthly get together to hoist a pint, and she has joined us for New Years and various seasonal gatherings for at least six years.

She has been battling cancer for two years, including nasty surgeries and chemicals.

We spent about five minutes talking; she was engaged in some chores on behalf of her elderly mother, and was clearly weary. We made chit-chat, and then she revealed that her most recent medical tests 'don't look too good.' Translation: 'I am closer to dying.' Her attitude seemed good, and she was appeciative of the prayers and best-wishes that have been forwarded her way. I acknowledged her... challenge... and said that I hoped that she and her beau would be able to join the gang this upcoming New Year's Eve. Matter of factly, she replied, "Well, we'll see."

Forty-six days from now, she may no longer be among the living. While not a close friend, it did make me glum, and made me reflect on how I face the prospect of my own mortal terminus. I do not believe in personal immortality, so how then do I proceed?

For me, an aphorism I have seen credited to the Shakers provides my roadmap:

"Live each day as if it were your last, but work each day as if you will live forever."

May we all, eventually, rest in peace.