Photo by Curated Lifestyle for Unsplash+
I have been going to a lot of funerals this year. It comes with the territory of being chronologically gifted. But the latest one hit me with all the force of an Acme anvil falling 20 stories.
The man whose funeral and burial I attended Sunday was a friend of 40 years, and only a few years older than me. His death came as a shock to me and everyone in our community. He was fit and strong. He worked out regularly. He hiked challenging portions of the Appalachian Trail. Many of his friends were amazed to learn he was 80 years old.
His father had lived well into his mid-90s, and my friend could have expected to equal or exceed that measure. He was doing all the right things.
In the end, none of that mattered. He choked while dining. End of story.
As members of our community waited for the funeral to begin, the murmurs were tinged with Anxiety. All of us had been in this chapel many times before. But this time was different. This time the funeral was for one of us. It was an uncomfortable feeling. The realization was dawning that it was our turn. We are now the older generation. And the unspoken question – in my mind, at least – was, will the next funeral be mine?
According to the Internet’s most reliable sources, I should have at least another 20 years on the top side of the earth. I am trying to do all the right things. I am working out regularly, walking often, eating carefully and moderately, and flossing daily. I do these things to improve my odds.
But Sunday’s funeral reminded me that it could all be for nought. While we can improve our odds, we can’t defeat them. The House always wins. Shit happens, even to the fit, the strong, and the conscientious. Our number can come up without warning, at any time.
What are we to make of this truth, the essence of the human condition?
One approach is to follow the advice of an old popular standard: “Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think.” We can fill our cart with every experience, every bucket-list dream, every pleasure life can offer, lest we miss out.
Another approach: “Repent one day before your death.” This saying is attributed to Rabbi Eliezer in Pirkei Avot, or Sayings of the Fathers, a Jewish text about ethics. But how, the rabbi’s students asked, can a person know the day on which he will die? To which the rabbi replied that one should repent today, lest he die tomorrow. In other words, keep your moral accounts current at all times.
By this logic, our best course is to reconcile with our brothers and sisters. Fix that falling-out with our former best friend over who-even-remembers-anymore. Don’t be a stranger to our children and grandchildren. Smile at the grocery cashier and make her day a bit better.
A third approach is to consider our Legacy. How do we want to be remembered? For our career achievements? For our Relationships? If we were to die tomorrow, what would be said at our own funeral? If we’re not happy with the likely answer, what can we do about it going forward?
Many a philosopher has said that the awareness of death makes life more precious. Knowing we will die – and at this point, sooner than later – encourages us to savor each moment, notice and cherish the beauty all around us, and give and receive Love openly and generously.
I expect to attend dozens more funerals before my turn comes around. But you never know. So I’m keeping these thoughts in the back of my mind and acting accordingly.
