Whistling Past the Graveyard
Lessons on Life from a Reeeaaally Quiet Neighborhood
I live across the street from a cemetery. Every morning as I sip my coffee I gaze out upon scores of headstones, each marking the site where a fellow human has been laid to “rest.” (I always thought that was a funny way of putting it; as though someone was merely taking a breather from breathing rather than a permanent leave.)
I look out the same window all day as I sit at my computer, working remotely. Row upon row of cement-gray stones, some with flags, some with flowers, others unadorned. It sounds like it might be depressing, but it’s not. The carefully tended lot is surrounded by trees, and two pairs of stone pillars grace the entrances. It’s beautiful, in a way.
Yes, I’ve heard the joke “such a quiet neighborhood!” many times. I’ve even made the joke myself. If you stop by, please try to come up with something original. There’s a glass of Irish whiskey in it for you.
Matters of life and death
The other morning I watched a hearse roll down the street and turn slowly into the stone-pillar-framed driveway, followed by a procession of cars with their headlights on. Another fellow human whose time on earth was done. I imagined those cars were filled with sorrow…and tears. I shed several myself and silently wished the departing soul Godspeed.
At the same time I wondered, did he leave any unfinished business? Words left unspoken? Grudges unresolved? I hoped not.
The thing about death being on YOUR doorstep is that it’s a constant reminder: We all will move into that quiet neighborhood eventually. We know this. The only thing we don’t know is WHEN. We fool ourselves into thinking it’s waaaaaay far off in the future. We live as though we have endless tomorrows on tap, a bottomless keg of weeks and months and years upon which to stand.
Wow, did I just compare life to a kegger? Hell yeah. Life’s a party. Life’s a beach. Live it up while you can. Love passionately. Laugh your ass off. Sing your heart out. Dance like nobody’s watching. Savor the joyful moments, and spit out the unpleasant ones. Do all that.
The trouble is, we think we have time.
We can get so caught up in the whirlwind of life that we forget about death. (Though with Covid lurking around every corner there is perhaps less of a whirlwind, and death is never far from our thoughts.) Still, we humans are really good at denying reality. We figure we can see our dear friends or loved ones anytime. Next time. Later. Or the reverse — we hold on to that grudge for dear life, digging our heels in as though we had all the time in the world to make amends.
Those of us who’ve been gutted by the sudden death or existential health crisis of a close friend or relation, or who’ve had one of our own — we know better. Last fall I had surgery to remove a benign meningioma — a tumor on the covering around my brain. An MRI this past spring showed a small shadow of something remaining, perhaps residual tumor, perhaps scar tissue — a souvenir from my “trip” to the OR. Fortunately, last week’s MRI showed no additional changes or growth, so there’s no need to follow-up for another year. I’m very relieved.
The whole experience awakened a spirit in me I didn’t know existed, and gave me a renewed appreciation for those closest to me, for every sunrise and sunset I’ve witnessed since, for every beloved song I’ve heard or sung, and for everything in between. A year later, I’m still rockin’ the new lease on life I’ve received and don’t plan to let up. Phrases like, “Let’s do that next time,” or “Maybe someday…” no longer exist in my vocabulary. And if after all I’ve been through I still need a reminder about the fragility of life, all I have to do is look out my window. Life is a party, yes! But life is short. Life is precious. Take nothing and no one for granted. Be grateful for every day that you are given, for nothing is guaranteed.
Well, except for that glass of Irish whiskey.
