On Death

I have attended two funerals in as many months. A funeral is a sobering experience, especially when you have been fortunate enough, as I, not to have been to one in over eleven years. It certainly makes you take stock.

In December, the entire Buford Artist's colony was shocked into despair at the sudden death of Lee Bomhoff, a much loved, talented pastel artist. He was only thirty-nine. And yet with so much life left to live, Lee had already made such good use of the time he was granted here, his name was known around the world. His memorial service was packed with mourners and people who adored him. It wasn't just his talent, or his charitable works that endeared him to everyone who met him, more importantly, he was simply a good soul. He lived not just with good intentions, but with great intentions fulfilled. If there were nothing else to mention, for this he will be missed and long remembered.

I have wondered many times since his death which is better - to live a full, rich, giving life within the framework of less than forty years, or just to live long, self indulgently, never reaching out, never caring, always shielded with invisible armor, lest someone attempt to take advantage of you. Which is better, to be in control or to be flexible, to be right or to be gracious, to be selfless or self actualized, courageous or safe, to live nobly or covertly? And if integrity is doing the right thing even though no one else is looking, is it more important to quietly live honorably or to do what you can get away with and then put up a good front? What is your true worth, then? Perhaps more importantly, who could entrust you with confidences?

I'm not the least bit afraid of death, though I cling to life fiercely because I haven't done everything I have wanted to do yet, but I've been examining my life, thus far completed, with some haunting questions. It occurred to me, if I could imagine what my funeral would be like, could I look backwards from that point, like rewinding a video, and see myself more objectively? And if I could, would I be able to make changes, like Scrooge who was allowed to see the old women pilfering his bed linens, laughing and making fun of his demise? If this concept makes you uncomfortable, then perhaps you should force yourself to rewind the video from the end also. You can never face too much truth for the truth is the only thing that makes us free and gives us second chances.

It might interest you to know that there is some form of The Golden Rule in nearly every religion, but, unfortunately, it isn't enough to know the Rule. If you don't practice it, your ability to feel genuine compassion begins to atrophy. It is blind compassion in general, that fine tunes the skill of forming true and intimate connections with others. And it is the intimate connecting that makes for strong marriages and lifelong friends, garners respect and affection and makes you worth loving. If you would be loved, warts and all, then it isn't enough to simply say you love, you must be willing to stretch yourself and care enough to explore what it is that makes another feel loved. This, then, exercises The Golden Rule - To treat someone else the way you would want to be treated in return - unconditionally. However, if you wake up every morning prepared to defend yourself from the slings and arrows of life, you will eventually be encased in a shell so impenetrable that you will be forever prevented from really experiencing personal, substantial, and rewarding relationships with other humans.

Is it not, after all, our ability to listen, to be sincerely compassionate, to be uplifting instead of negative, to encourage instead of discourage, and, lastly but not least, our willingness to be inconvenienced that makes us good parents, spouses, friends - and ultimately, good souls?

Lee must have known, somehow, what is important about living that makes death less final. For how can you really be gone, if you were worth remembering?