SAD COMFORT

Easing out

Today there was a memorial service for Melesse, someone I’ve known for a long time. All things being equal I would have been there.

All things are never equal. We have one car and Lacey had an appointment. I would once have walked the uphill mile and a half, but this is no longer once. Even had I, the warm day would have meant my arriving smelly and dripping sweat.

I was sad not to be there. But there was some comfort in knowing that others who loved her would be there. And even greater comfort in thinking about whatever my family may decide to do to mark my death, whether in remote, rural Vermont, where our burial plot is across the road from our house, and/or wading into the Pacific, people who may want to be there won’t be able to.

That’s comforting because, as hard and disrupting as it is when someone you love dies, those who are left continue going to the grocery store, restaurants and movies, grouse about the weather, have political arguments and order from Amazon.

My ego wants me to think the world can’t go on without me. Because that pesky ego knows it will no longer be needed. Melesse had a hard last few years. Getting ready to die often requires skills we’ve been conditioned to keep at bay. Chief among them, letting go of our lifelong effort to control how things come out.

It mattered to me that I couldn’t be there today. It didn’t matter to Melesse. It will matter to some who can’t make it to my service. But not to me.