About The Weather

I've had to chance to spend a fair amount of time with my parents over the last few weeks, and am now beginning to process the way that our conversations have evolved.  We've talked a lot about things like death, funeral arrangements, trusts, beneficiaries, and all of that jazz (topics that have become so commonplace that, as Mom says, it's basically like we're just talking about the weather).  And we talk about what we're reading, learning, hearing, observing.  We spend very little time talking about what this person said, or what happened to that person, or "remember when we..." or "someday, I'd really like to..."  It's kind of nice, this whole living-in-the-present thing.  And, it's not that our talk is exclusively focused on Dad's illness, or on our mortality or anything like that, but I have been struck by the fact that, while death feels like a huge inconvenience--and it's something that is very difficult for those who lose a loved one, it's completely commonplace.  None of us makes it out alive, and yet we seem to tiptoe around death, walk on eggshells around anyone forced to face their mortality in a more stark way, and we sort of treat the whole business of dying as if its taboo.

Why should we do that?  Do we think that pretending that death is not a reality might make it be so?  Because, well, that's just not the case--our bodies come with expiration dates.  And, sometimes, we receive irreparable damages that render us "totaled" even if we haven't yet arrived at that expiration date.  I realize I sound like I'm talking about a gallon of milk or something, rather than human life, and that there's a great deal more that occurs in the dying of a person--and a great more about which to be sad (in other words, it's not just crying over spilt milk........) (*cricket cricket*), but the thing of it is, if death is something of such great significance in our lives--and I believe that it is--then why do we treat it as if its something about which we must not talk.  Conversely, if death is something that we know to be natural and normal and inevitable, then why do we spend so much time thinking about it, worrying about it, letting it consume us, dreading it, or whatever other things we do?

And another thing: I think that we are selfish in a lot of ways--that's the thing that largely causes all of our sinfulness/imperfections/whatever you want to call it.  And, even in our death, we greatly desire that people remember us as having been a really amazing, irreplaceable, important and meaningful influence in their lives.  We hope that we leave a legacy--we hope for a jam-packed funeral, a full list of names from visitors at the funeral home, etc.  But, what are we doing to actually help ourselves achieve that reality?  Are we living lives deserving of the high praise that we hope to receive?  Do we strive to be the person who we hope that people remember us as being?  Or do we just sort of hope that the negative stuff will be brushed aside, and that only the positive stuff will be mentioned in honoring our memory?  Do we hope that we're doing just enough?  Do we hope that the secret anger/bitterness/envy/jealousy/hatred that we harbor is never exposed, so that we can be known as "the nicest person who ever lived" or whatever?

Well, honestly, we need to step back even further: how do we want to be remembered?  What type of legacy do we hope to leave?  Do I want to be remembered as having achieved great financial or academic success?  Do I want to be remembered for being an excellent mother?  Do I want to be remembered has having great faith and passion?  I think that, if we can whittle away at those things that we'd like to see as our epitaph, we can also gain an understanding of where are priorities are.  We can understand what we view as important.  And, frankly, if we really step back and look at our lives: how we spend our time and our money--then we can see this, too.  Often, I'd suggest, the things that we say are of utmost importance to us rarely reveal themselves to truly be of utmost import.  If my marriage is as important as I say it is, then why am I often too stubborn to openly talk about, and apologize for, mistakes that I've made within that relationship?  If my faith is really important to me, then why do I spend my money on that 4th new shirt that I really don't need, instead of praying about my financial decisions and seeking to serve others--and God--through my investments?  And, if God is really number one in my life, then why is Bible study and prayer time the first thing to push to the side when 'more important' things like laundry, exercise or even 'me time' need to happen.  Don't misunderstand me: these are very important things.  We need to take care of the things that we have, and we need to take care of ourselves.  My point is that, simply, if I consistently shirk prayer time in favor of balancing the checkbook then, perhaps, I need to evaluate how important prayer time really is in my life.  And, also, how important money is in my life.  If I spend hours trying to reconcile bank statements, or whatever, but I say that my faith, love and service in and for God is of greatest importance, then it stands to reason that I should spend more time seeking these things.  And, furthermore, these things should come first. They shouldn't be the first things to abandon.

And if we live life in such a way so as to accurately reflect the things that we say are our priorities, then I suggest that, also, death becomes a less scary/threatening/taboo concept because we know that we're living the way that we believe we ought.  So we can't have regrets.  We can't be sad that we never got to tell so-and-so how we really felt.  We can't fear having done so many things that have to be done instead of stopping to smell the roses.

We know we're going to die.  We don't know when.  We are foolish to try and count the number of our days.  But, if we live beautifully, our death can be beautiful, too.