Life's too short
Yesterday was the first day this year I really noticed tons of flowers blooming in our yard and on Main Street. After a few unseasonably warm days that teased us earlier this month -- and the crushing cold spell that followed -- yesterday felt like the start of the real thing, a promise that'd be kept.
I took a half-day and went into the city for the afternoon, and would have loved to wander around soaking in the sun in Central Park or something, but unfortunately was in town for not one but two memorial services. A friend at work lost her mom earlier this week, so I went to the afternoon service in Brooklyn before heading back downtown for an evening service for a beloved college professor.
My friend's mom was 80, and she'd been in and out of hospitals and nursing homes for the last several months. But even though her death was expected -- a blessing, even -- and her loved ones had had the time to come to terms with its inevitability, to say their goodbyes, and to make sure they said everything they'd wanted to say before she died, their pain was palpable. The family agonized, still, over whether they'd done the right thing in stopping treatment; my friend's stepdad looked lost and forlorn, like he still couldn't quite believe it. He kept going over to the open casket to touch his wife's hand, and it broke my heart. She was his whole world, his whole life, and the decades together aren't enough. Objectively, 80 years is a long time, but when you lose the person you love the most in the world, it's not enough. It's never enough.
My professor was 64, and his death was sudden, totally unexpected. No one had time to say their goodbyes while he was still living, so yesterday's service was their opportunity to do so. His agent, his editor, friends and former students made beautiful, honest tributes, and many expressed how pissed off they were that he'd been taken from this world so soon. His son, who's in the military and is also an actor, was the last speaker. He was funny and sweet, and his mannerisms -- the way he cocked his head and knitted his eyebrows -- reminded me so much of his dad. He talked about leaving behind letters for his family while he was in Iraq, in case he didn't make it home. He never really got to tell his dad what was in the letter.
He closed with a slideshow of a lifetime of photos, set to music that his parents liked to dance to in their kitchen.
The service really did feel like a celebration of life, of a life well-lived. My professor, of course, had to deal with bureaucratic nonsense at work, rejection from editors, a senseless war that put his son's life in danger. But he took the bad in stride and focused on the good: reveling in the love of family; being a good friend and mentor; writing as best he could about the stuff he thought mattered; playing with his dogs on the beach during vacations in Maine. The stuff of photographs and memories.
This quote from Erma Bombeck keeps popping into my head: "Life's too short to eat brown bananas." It's a little twee, but it rings true. There's a lot of crap in life that we have to deal with -- go to work, pick up after the dog, side the house -- but here's to making the most of the stuff over which we do have some control. Because life really is too short.
I took a half-day and went into the city for the afternoon, and would have loved to wander around soaking in the sun in Central Park or something, but unfortunately was in town for not one but two memorial services. A friend at work lost her mom earlier this week, so I went to the afternoon service in Brooklyn before heading back downtown for an evening service for a beloved college professor.
My friend's mom was 80, and she'd been in and out of hospitals and nursing homes for the last several months. But even though her death was expected -- a blessing, even -- and her loved ones had had the time to come to terms with its inevitability, to say their goodbyes, and to make sure they said everything they'd wanted to say before she died, their pain was palpable. The family agonized, still, over whether they'd done the right thing in stopping treatment; my friend's stepdad looked lost and forlorn, like he still couldn't quite believe it. He kept going over to the open casket to touch his wife's hand, and it broke my heart. She was his whole world, his whole life, and the decades together aren't enough. Objectively, 80 years is a long time, but when you lose the person you love the most in the world, it's not enough. It's never enough.
My professor was 64, and his death was sudden, totally unexpected. No one had time to say their goodbyes while he was still living, so yesterday's service was their opportunity to do so. His agent, his editor, friends and former students made beautiful, honest tributes, and many expressed how pissed off they were that he'd been taken from this world so soon. His son, who's in the military and is also an actor, was the last speaker. He was funny and sweet, and his mannerisms -- the way he cocked his head and knitted his eyebrows -- reminded me so much of his dad. He talked about leaving behind letters for his family while he was in Iraq, in case he didn't make it home. He never really got to tell his dad what was in the letter.
He closed with a slideshow of a lifetime of photos, set to music that his parents liked to dance to in their kitchen.
The service really did feel like a celebration of life, of a life well-lived. My professor, of course, had to deal with bureaucratic nonsense at work, rejection from editors, a senseless war that put his son's life in danger. But he took the bad in stride and focused on the good: reveling in the love of family; being a good friend and mentor; writing as best he could about the stuff he thought mattered; playing with his dogs on the beach during vacations in Maine. The stuff of photographs and memories.
This quote from Erma Bombeck keeps popping into my head: "Life's too short to eat brown bananas." It's a little twee, but it rings true. There's a lot of crap in life that we have to deal with -- go to work, pick up after the dog, side the house -- but here's to making the most of the stuff over which we do have some control. Because life really is too short.
1 Comments:
I am always amazed at the depth of Tangent Woman's blogs. Her husband writes about which hamburger he wants to eat... and later... he has a blog about his review of burgers with pictures as supporting evidence... Tangent Woman... is an amazing person.
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Smelmooo, at 4:11 PM
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