Death. Dead. Died. All those words—one syllable all—are like punches in the stomach for all of us. And the punches land harder the younger the decedent. Over the past week it has been hard not to reflect on mortality, not only with the passing of Whitney Houston at 48, but also the very sudden passing of a person from my hometown who was only 29 when he died, possibly doing what he loved best in the whole world. If you have to go early, I guess the best way to go is zooming down a black diamond trail with the wind in your face and nature majestically splayed out before you.
These two people lived two very different lives: Whitney’s was lived with unprecedented fame and all of the awesome responsibilities that come with that; my friend’s was lived as a typical active American, holding down a job and living his life to the fullest. But no matter what kind of life they lived, the best thing is that they lived, and that we got a chance to know them in our own way. And to think that they’ll never go to another party or laugh at another joke, or win another game of Monopoly, is almost too much to think about. But the suddenness and the unexpectedness of their deaths, at least for me, have knocked me back into myself. These people aren’t here anymore, no one can really know for sure where they are, if anywhere at all, and that just makes me want to live life even more, so when Entropy calls my number and it is time for me to transition, I will be able to look back on my life and all the people who filled it and made it interesting, and say, “Wow… look at the life that I got to live! It wasn’t easy, it wasn’t totally hard either, but I am sure glad that it wasn’t boring and that I took every possibility that presented itself.” Because the better the life and the more meaningful life we live, the less we can fear the end.
Then I look at my niece who turned 1 on Wednesday, and I think about everything that is ahead of her, good and bad: her first bike ride, her first bus ride, her first crush, her first gold star, her first contusion, her first disappointment… And then I realize that she'll be 88 in the year 2100, and just thinking about all the world events that she’ll have lived through, and what the world will even look like then is just completely mind-boggling. I look into her dimpled smile while she’s blissfully shoving fistfuls of Cheerios into her face, and I think, “you have no idea what is in store for you, kid.”
So, I am going to close out this sappy post by spouting the usual clichés about what death teaches us to do (and they are clichés precisely because they are the truth): Make sure you tell people regularly how much you love them, how much they have meant to you and how much you have appreciate all that they contributed to your life. But the most important thing to remember is not to forget to live. Live. Sing at the top of your lungs in the shower. Go out with the friends you can act stupid around, and just go nuts. Have that extra shot of espresso in your macchiato, or that extra Cheetoh. Pursue your dreams whatever they may be and give the finger to anyone out there that puts up a roadblock and move beyond it, because you only have one life. Just one. So, live the shit out of it, so that when Entropy screams, “42!” and it’s your number, you can go out knowing that you had a kick-ass life.
My friend died thirteen years ago this month, and not a day goes by that I don't remember him. I didn't get to tell him how much he meant to me before he went, but he was the single biggest positive influence in my life. And he encouraged me to live the shit out of my life, as you say, and do things I would never have thought I could do. Grieving is the pits, but my angel says its better than facing a huge transition with no time or place to adjust. My advice is take all the time you need to grieve, because even that is part of the fullness and richness of life,if it is done with love for your friend and respect for the emotions in yourself!!
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