Preamble: This may seem an odd subject that’s out of character for my typical blog posting, but, as I may have mentioned, I’m sifting through my past blogs with a view toward publishing them in book form. While reviewing old files, I came across this piece which, upon reading today, might seem a little ghoulish, yet still accurately reflects my views on life and death…at least to date. Although this was originally slotted for after my “graduation”, I decided to include it here to get some completeness, more or less. Reading it side by side with my piece “On Turning Seventy”, one might think that I’m contemplating an end to the race. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’m more fully embracing life that ever before, and even enjoying it more. It’s within that context that I offer:
Thoughts on My Passing
I know there are those who strive to speak to the living from beyond the grave, but I can assure you that’s not what this is about. I know the more cynical amongst you are thinking that I just wanted to give one more speech. What could be a better forum than to speak at your own funeral? In fact, as I write this, I’m sitting in my office at the ranch on a raw wintry day thinking of all the things “I should have said” while still living, and I figured that now before fate overtakes me or I lose what wits I have to dementia, or something worse, it’s a pretty good time to get some things said.
Those of you who know me well, know that I’ve never been a spiritual person, at least in the conventional sense our society places on those words. Lord knows, I tried. Growing up a Southern Baptist meant that I was in the church every time they opened the doors. I learned to pray with the best of them and always won the Sword Drills where you got a new bible for looking up scriptures the fastest. And then there were the years that I looked farther afield for a spiritual community I could relate to… without having to subscribe to a dogma of some kind. The Unitarian/Universalist church seemed such a place at first, until I realized that their intellectuality was in itself a kind of dogma. In fact, it took over six decades to find the spirituality that had eluded me for so long. I’d like to be able to put a label on it, but it seems to defy any label that makes sense to me; although I suspect that people far smarter than me labeled it long ago. I reckon I could look it up, but it doesn’t really seem very important to give it a name.
Actually it’s found all around us. The spirituality that I gravitated to has as its icons all things in nature. The birds, trees, rivers, flowers, and fields. The rain and the wind. The soft blue sky in morning, the bright dusty haze of sunset, and the majesty of a summer thunderstorm.. It’s the butterflies and hummingbirds stalking the pollen that sustains their life. It’s the soft, white tufts of the cottonwoods floating in the wind. You get the drift. And these icons have their own liturgy of sounds that surprise and delight only when listened to closely, even reverently. Yeah, I know all of this sounds more than a little strange coming from someone who spent far too much of his life in a suit and tie and actually enjoyed analyzing balance sheets. It’s funny, isn’t it, that the really important things often reveal themselves so slowly and so late in life.
No matter the circumstances of my death, my life overwhelms it. And I hope that you can celebrate it with me for a few minutes. It’s been a life filled to the brim with hope and occasionally a tiny jot of despair. Tremendous joy and a little sadness. Success and a little failure. Frenetic activity and periods of indolence. A few big wins and some painful losses. Striving that didn’t always get me to the goal.
But mainly it’s been filled with love. Love of my parents who nurtured me upon entry to this world, love of my wife who sustained me and gave me substance throughout my life, love of my children and grandchildren who gave me indescribable joy, and love of my friends who indulged my eccentricities and forgave my foibles. If one were to write a prescription for life at its outset, you couldn’t do much better than that. I’m satisfied.
Since I’m writing this in advance of death, and hopefully, some years will yet pass before the occasion arises for it to be revealed, I don’t know who of you that I love will be here. And further, I don’t know whether you’ll be here out of love, guilt or curiosity, but in any case, please indulge me this one last time by not engaging in the normal funereal activities. If you have good thoughts of the time we shared together, and are so inclined, share them with others. If not, silence would be fine. If you’re the kind that’s just has to pray at times such as this, I guess that’s okay too, so long as you don’t do it too long or too loud. For those who need liquid refreshments to sustain them, I’ll bet that we’ve got the right stuff around somewhere. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind an ice cold gin and tonic myself right now.
I hope that by now my ashes have been scattered in some pasture on the farm and that they will contribute to a really good hay crop next year. I can’t think of a better use. And finally, Kodak said it best, “Memories are forever”.
Love, Gary
