Wistful Thinking On Funerals

This was written two days ago but I'm just now putting it up.

I'm supposed to go to a funeral today. I'm not a big fan of them, not that there are many people who are. That would just be weird. Actually it's more like I'm not a big fan of social gatherings in general. Weddings, birthday parties and yes, even funerals all cry out "look at me, validate me by paying attention to me." Birthdays and weddings of course are for the people who are alive and there at that moment. Funerals though aren't for the person who died. They're for those left behind. I don't think a dead person cares either way if people have gathered, dressed up and are paying their respects to what kind of a person they were when they were living. It seems more about how the attention somehow makes the grief of the living easier when it's shared.

Personally I feel it’s all rubbish. Like I said, the dead person doesn't care one iota about anything being done "for" them or in their name. Being dead means they're beyond feelings period. I rather doubt when I go I'll have a large outcry of lamenting over my leaving but even if there is a small one I'd rather they do something different for me. Instead of gathering in a church, everybody dressing to impress each other and having people talk who may or may not be telling the absolute truth, I propose whoever feels like it can gather and tell stories about me. Tell why you hated me or tell why you loved me. Tell funny stories that show that I was a human, not some near perfect being because trust me, I'm far from that.

 
How about visiting me before I die and sharing these things? Anybody can come after you've gone and only speak of the good things. After all, by then you're no longer around to correct them on the details. It is hard to see someone when the end is near when you are sad about the change in them, perhaps because it makes us recognize the frailty of life and that all of us will succumb at some point or another. Whatever the reason I'd rather people share with me while I am dying and then if they must, gather and celebrate the life I’ve led with each other. I've let far too many people slip away and haven't spent time as well as I could have but I am trying. So you can heed this or ignore it, your choice. Once I'm gone even these words will no longer matter to me. Do what you feel like. Do what makes you happy.

Written and Published by Don Leach. May not be used without permission from the author.

Poem For Grandpa

Tall and gaunt Not very vocal
When You Spoke It meant volumes
Solitary in nature Thinking it all out

When you grabbed The children
Rubbed stubble On their faces
Shrieks of joy disguised as terror

I was young I lived to visit
I turned older As did you
Those visits became Far less frequent

She left her body There but not there
Never to return To your home
You gave up Life had no meaning

I never said I love you
It was implied And reciprocated
I never got To say goodbye


Written and Published by Don Leach. May not be used without permission from the author.

Love, Marriage and Illness

The alarm clock sounded for the second time and instead of hitting the snooze button again he shut it off and struggled to his feet. Squinting his eyes against the light he stumbled to the bathroom and relieved his bladder and following that as he washed his hands he stared at his image in the mirror. For most of his life he had looked younger than he was, even after he started losing his hair. Now though, the events of the recent months had taken their toll on him and his true age was starting to show. He sighed and thought briefly how it is inevitable that everybody gets older before veering sharply away from the direction those thoughts would take him in. Not now, there would be plenty of time during the day for that.

After a small breakfast, which was all he had ever been able to stomach, he washed the dishes and took his shower then dressed and before he knew it the time had come for him to go. He caught a taxi and looked at the all too familiar buildings along the way. The multitude of taxi drivers rarely varied the route so he let his mind drift a bit and very shortly he was there. Slowly he walked up the sidewalk and in the front door and turned left at the first hallway he came across followed by a right turn into another hallway and in a few feet he was there. Room 317. He emitted a heavy sigh and tried to let go of any negative feelings he had. It would do no good to go into the room in that frame of mind.

Forcing a smile on his face he pushed the door open and beheld her, his love. She fastened her gaze upon him, momentarily unsure of who this man was before it all came back to her. He told her how beautiful she was. She said that it was a lie. He told her how much he loved her, how special she was. She denied it all. She was tired of this place, didn't like the doctors and the staff was so rude. He could only tell her to be patient, perhaps soon she could come home. She fixed a fiery gaze at him and asked who he was. Why are you even here? The man weathered her storm of anger, after all, given her condition it was to be understood. Even though it was difficult seeing her this way it had to be incredibly worse to see it from her view.

Her anger dissipated into meandering stories about her life and shortly after that sleep came to her. This was his cue, his time to leave and go out into the world where he could briefly distract himself from the problems of life. He had work to do so that the bills could be paid and food bought. In the evening he would make his way here again to be by her side, silently listening to the same questions and stories all over again, in this building that normally housed people much older than her that was now her home. No, that word isn't correct at all he thought darkly. This is merely her residence, it's not a home at all. A home is a place where love, hope and dreams live. None of that can be found here, this place has no soul and is only where her body resides and occasionally, if he was lucky, he was able to catch frighteningly short glimpses of the woman he had loved his whole life. Most of the time that woman no longer existed, but sometimes, for those few, short moments she came back to him and those moments of clarity are what he now lived for.

Written and Published by Don Leach. May not be used without permission from the author.

What Will Be Will Be

As I was driving to pick up my wife two weeks ago she called me to say the reason she needed me to take her to the Emergency Room. Her MRI had shown a dark spot. Immediately I followed my nature and started thinking deeply about what this could mean, not only to her but our family. What if it was something like a tumor? What if it was terminal? What would we do?

Besides being a deep thinker I am also a realist. What will happen is what will happen, there is no avoiding it. I'm not one to sit and bemoan why something has happened to me. Quickly I decided that if it were something that bad then I would make sure we that the time we had left together as a family would be special, that we would do everything that we always wanted to do but put off. If that meant letting the house go back to the bank and quitting my job to have the time for it to happen then I would do it. No question. I also said a quick prayer as I drove that none of this would be necessary.

Thankfully the news has been good. Although she has a blood clot on her brain it seems like surgery will not be needed at this time. By the time of the MRI her body was already fixing the problem. Last week she had a CAT Scan that showed that the blood clot was getting significantly smaller. We're hoping that in the coming weeks it will dissolve completely and there will be no more problems from it.

Then I asked myself, "Why do we always wait until it's too late to make our time special?" Instead of taking time away from our busy lives to do the things we want to do we instead put it off to do "tomorrow." Then we find out that there are no more "tomorrows" and we wish we could change it all. Why don't we try to have that spirit all the time?

Life just gets in the way. I mean we have to work to pay for our food, housing, clothes and transportation and that is getting harder to do every day. It's only natural that we keep trying to do those important things while dreaming of a time when we can do what we want instead of what we have to do. Once realized though, how much longer can we keep putting things off for a better time? After all, time is not infinite.

Published by Don Leach