Staying or Exiting

Staying or Exiting

    Yesterday was cold and windy in much of the nation, particularly the northeast portion of the U.S. which received nearly 2 feet of snow (.6 meters) in a single day.  Last month, our own city received 22 inches of snow in a day (.55 meters)...and the snow continues as I write this.  But even as the snow battered the east coast, my wife and I were warmly nestled in a restaurant with our mothers, her's nearing 87 and mine well past 90; and other than a good chunk of hearing loss (and mothers being mothers and sometimes testing our patience), both moms are in good shape.  Amazing.  And for some reason, the visits (now common) brought to mind (again) the quickening passage of time...was I merely taking all of this for granted, that our moms would be here for quite awhile, or that we would be here for quite awhile?  Time certainly did appear to be flying by, even as it somehow appeared to be standing still.  Close to four decades of work now a thing of the past as the three year anniversary of our retirements zoomed by; it was almost as if we were at a horse track waiting so long for the horses to round the bend and then wham, a photo finish and we were now watching the tails of the horses grow smaller and smaller and they continued down the track.  What happened?  And if my wife and I are thinking that way, what were our moms thinking?  It's one thing to be 30 and wonder where your 20s went; but to be 90 and wonder where on earth 90 years could have gone?

    Ironically (some would say morbidly), I was drawn to Sarah Murray's entertaining read, Making An Exit, a book about what do you want done when you pass away?  Sure, make your plans (funeral, burial, cremation, mausoleum, elaborate service, maybe just being tossed into an active volcano?), but that was our version in the Western world, and let's face it, the Western world overall is rather small compared to the rest of the world.  Here's what she had to say in her adventures that got me to continue thinking and continue reading: ...I have a great starting point--a blank slate.  For among the things I love about being an independent, single woman is that it's all up to me.  I wear what I want, eat out when I like, stay in when I need to, paint the walls any color I fancy.  It follows, then, that I can order any sort of coffin, bury my body anywhere I'm legally allowed to, have my ashes scattered wherever I choose, and leave my money to whomever I deem deserving.  With no in-laws to influence me, and no religion to constrain me, I'm free to make choices in death as well as in life...Ah, but here's the rub--where do I start?...for most people, a review of their "final arrangements," as they're often called, involves a chat with the family or a visit to a lawyer, financial advisor, or funeral director.  My response is to hit the road.  As a journalist and longtime traveler, it's what I've always done when I wanted to learn about something--I like to get out there, feel the heat, pound the pavement, taste the wine.  And, who knows, perhaps contemplating something as scary as my own death will make its approach a little less terrifying.

    Yes, I've dwelled on this subject in previous posts; and other than for Murray's book among other things, would have probably let it go.  But in keeping with slowly catching up on things past, my wife and I watched the single-season series, A Gifted Man, a prelude of sorts to the Canadian show, Saving Hope, where a person alive communicates with someone who has passed on and yet still has unfinished business (in the Canadian version, the character is simply in a coma).  And then jumping way back 20 years, read Paulo Coelho's By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept, a "novel of forgiveness" as it's subtitled.  Traditional religious practices are important: they allow us to share with others the communal experience of adoration and prayer.  But we must never forget that spiritual experience is above all a practical experience of love.  And with love, there are no rules.  Some may try to control their emotions and develop strategies for their behavior; others may turn to reading books of advice from "experts" on relationships--but this is all folly.  The heart decides, and what it decides is all that really matters...Thomas Merton once said that the spiritual life is essentially to love.  One doesn't love in order to do what is good or to help or to protect someone.  If we act that way, we are perceiving the other as a simple object, and we are seeing ourselves as wise and generous persons.  This has nothing to do with love....Those who are truly enlightened, those whose souls are illuminated by love, have been able to overcome all of the inhibitions and preconceptions of their era.  They have been able to sing, to laugh, and to pray out loud; they have danced and shared what Saint Paul called "the madness of saintliness."  They have been joyful--because those who love conquer the world and have no fear of loss.  True love is an act of total surrender.

    Certainly, time moves on and waits for no one.  And the fluctuations of emotions --caring coupled with impatience, giving coupled with taking, generosity coupled with selfishness-- play out, both to the outside world and inside us.  But eventually, this cluster of cells and thinking that defines us will return to a series of ashes and soils no greater or lesser than what decorates the plains of Wisconsin (known for its sand, of all things, where the once-ocean-filled plains ground down rocks into tiny grains and let the wind finish them off with a final polish).  Writing this, reading this, viewing this, it all seems so distant, so impossible and incredible...but then, you are (one hopes) the age of my mom and eating at a restaurant at 90 and wondering what will happen tomorrow.


    In his book, Coelho's character gives this talk to an audience: You have to take risks.  We will only understand the miracle of life fully when we allow the unexpected to happen.  Every day, God gives us the sun--and also one moment in which we have the ability to change everything that makes us unhappy.  Every day, we try to pretend that we haven't perceived that moment, that it doesn't exist--that today is the same as yesterday and will be the same as tomorrow.  But if people really pay attention to their everyday lives, they will discover that magic moment.  It may arrive in the instant when we are doing something mundane, like putting our front-door key in the lock; it may lie hidden in the quiet that follows the lunch hour or in the thousand and one things that all seem the same to us.  But the moment exists--a moment when all the power of the stars becomes a part of us and enables us to perform miracles.

    As our lives move on, whether relaxed or frantically, such moments, such "magic" moments, become difficult.  Distractions are everywhere and we become lovers of procrastination; tomorrow is another day and things can wait.  But before long the happy birthday song is for us being 90 and we have to start looking at things differently.  But as difficult as it is, you don't have to be 90...you can be 17, or 40, or 103.  Time still exists to perform miracles, a smile, a helping hand, a sharing of your box of candy.  It all becomes a matter of how we look at it...giving, of ourselves and not for ourselves might be the miracle, the magic moment of realization.  So here's my miracle, a toast...to the moms!

Our moms last Christmas...