Horton might hear a Who, but most of us have a Who. Who is your Who? What is your Who?
Purpose and religion define many people. Serving God. Serving Humanity. Serving Science. Yes, we all serve somebody or something. Personally, God deserves first slot in our priorities. He’s a big Who worthy of serious consideration. But this isn’t a religious post so much as it’s a post about the people – the relationship here on earth – that define us, fulfill us and help us.
Death is the inevitable conclusion of mortal life. Eventually all of us will find our way to the grave. Worse yet, all of us will experience the loss of somebody else who will get their first.
I think of death often. Too often? I don’t know. I’m not sure how often is too often. And I have no way of knowing how often others think of death. Their own, or somebody else? I admit to thinking of the death of others as much, or more, than I do my own. I suspect I dread the loss more than I dread the trip.
When death removes somebody from our life we feel loss. But what is lost? Last night I began to think of a lifelong friend. One I’ve not seen in awhile. One I don’t often talk to. But I know he’s here, alive. I know where he lives. I have his phone number. I have his email address. I know I can pick up a phone and call him. Or get in the car and drive to see him. There is something comforting about that.
Our collective experience ties us. Life binds us. Death would separate us.
A woman is the focal point of my life. Children are, too. Now, a grandchild – only 8 months old. I don’t want to lose any of them. They’re all precious. But at the heart of it – is a woman, my wife. She is the center of my universe. The life I’ve built was architected around her. With her. I’m unable to comprehend my life without her. She does indeed define me in so many ways.
She doesn’t work with me. She has little idea of what goes on in my professional life. That is, she’s not clued in to the details of my daily professional routines. But she’s always with me. My mind thinks of her often. Hourly? More frequently. Sort of like an ever-present thought lying not so silently beneath the surface of whatever I’m doing. Or wherever I am.
Being tethered so tightly with another human being puts us at risk. Risk of loss. But the risk of not being so committed – so tethered – is much, much greater. The risk of never having your life so tied to another is a more horrible thought.
Death will separate us. Selfishly, I hope she’s forced to cope with the loss because I suspect her strength is greater. Or perhaps like “The Notebook” we can quietly lie down and go together naturally, peacefully. But that’s only a book (or movie).
People matter. So today I’m going to take time to let her know how much I care. How much she matters. How crucial she is to my existence. And I’ll let all the others who matter know, too. I don’t think they’ll be offended to play second to my wife.
I may even call my buddy who I’ve not talked to in awhile.
