Do we REALLY die?
The cousin I spoke of on April 6 has died. I’m not sure of the details, but it has been an agonizing month. He was 42. He leaves an 18-month-old daughter, a young wife, devastated parents and siblings; countless heartbroken cousins, aunts, uncles, nephews and nieces. And then there was his extended family. He belonged to a Medieval Re-enactment Club where he cultivated deep, life-long friendships. But he also made a difference within the community in which he lived IN CHINA—even though he was only there a relatively short period. In fact, neighbors and friends within his village have set May 15 as a fund-raising date for his widow and daughter to help ease some of the immediate financial needs. That so ROCKS! His friends are scheduling the fundraiser in a bar and have four local bands set to play and are planning raffles throughout the event. They said this event was just among friends at first, but has snowballed into a community-wide shindig! AWESOME!
I am related to this cousin by marriage, so I think it is not so critical that I attend the upcoming memorial service. Actually, I will weasel out of it any way I can, because memorials remind me of all of those folks who have gone before me. I’m not up for being reminded of those folks at present. I mean, my paternal grandparents are kept alive through stories that I tell about them each and every day. My husband and I enjoy keeping the memories of those we cherished most alive through stories or even a few “trigger” words we have. For example, in my best old-lady voice, I’ll crackle, “I don’t ever remember having this such-and-such. Have I ever had this before? Oh, it’s so good.” It reminds me of my grandma, who wasn’t senile at 92, she was just silly. In fact, I can remember her saying that when I was a kid. Anyway, when I imitate Thelmalu, Dan and I well we bust up laughing. We roar with laughter. And we think of how much fun we had with her. And we don’t think of how sad we are that she isn’t here anymore. Memorial services do that to me. They remind me of just how sad I am that all of those who have gone before me have gone before me. So, I guess we don’t really die. We live on through the memories and anecdotes of others. Cripes. That means I should go out and start cultivating some nice memories of me for others to remember, instead of me just being a jaded, cynical, skeptical people-hating hermit. I’m off. Toodles!
