When I was 16, my father went to work on an early December Saturday morning, leaving at 4:00 am to open the bar where he worked.  He went with my grandfather who was staying with us. My maternal grandparents stayed with us every year from April-October.  This year was a little different. There was a family wedding and they stayed a little longer before heading back to Florida.  By 8:00 am that morning my world was changed forever.  My father had a heart attack and died on the spot. He was 49 years old. How final it was and for a 16 year old nothing was final.  That day has had an impact on so many decisions, both conscious and unconscious that I have made over the following 57 years.  I didn’t grow up in a family that  knew how to allow people’s feelings to be felt and it took years of therapy, of all kinds, to sort through the feelings I had, then and now.  I have learned that death is final and I have gone the way of trying to live each day as if it’s the last  That one continues to challenge me.

Last year a good friend of mine died.  We had been friends for 40 years and although ,sometimes, years would go by and we wouldn’t see each other, we would  simply pick up where we left off.  Carlene was a friend I could call in the middle of the night and she would be there, for a good cry and for a great laugh.  I miss her so often.  It took a while to stop saying in my head “Oh wow, I have to call Carlene and tell her this or that.”

Last week my sister’s friend, Elayne, died. They were best friends for more than 50 years. She wasn’t sick,  but rather she didn’t feel well, started losing weight, was diagnosed with stage 4 inoperable cancer and died. It all happened in the blink of an eye. I know that her death has had a profound impact on  my sister.  How could it not?  It is so final and was so fast. 

When death comes you understand not only the finality but the need for the people who are left to have space to mourn, to talk about their feelings, to cry, to laugh, to reminisce.  I always find it almost funny when someone says they don’t want to mention the dead person to someone left behind because it will bring it up for them.  Are you kidding?  You mentioning the person’s name or speaking about their death has nothing to do with reminding them of their loss.  It is always there.   You know that when you have lost someone. 

When death comes at a young age it robs those left behind, a lifetime of memories. There is a blank slate, never to be filled.  Recently someone asked me to describe my father and I realized that in the eyes of a 73 year old my description, so many years later, is a blend of fantasy and reality.  I missed out on lots of things and yet I know death from a different perspective.  I remember my sister and I once went to  see the movie “Father of the Bride.”  We sat through the movie and found some parts humorous but for the most part it was like watching a foreign film without subtitles.  We didn’t get it. 

Since Elayne’s death, the reality of death has moved a little closer for me.  In a few weeks my sister is meeting me in Paris for 5 days and then we will fly back to Budapest together for a week.  She will be our first visitor.  She was our first visitor the last time we lived here.  She and I meet each other all over the world.  Wherever and whenever we  can.  This trip feels even more important.

My relationship with Steve, my husband of 39 years, has been filled with adventure along with  all the opportunities and challenges any marriage might face.  When death comes I know that I have said all the things I want to say to him, with no regrets.  I anticipate the adventures that will come with an open heart. 
I leave you today with Mary Oliver’s poem, “When Death Comes.”  She says it best. 

With love and gratitude,

Marsha

When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

–Mary Oliver