There was a funeral near my office today. I noticed a long line of people heading toward an equally long line of tombstones, both neatly arranged in some semblance of human order. The procession was slow, somber befitting an end all knew were coming even if the when had remained a mystery.
At the head of the line a woman walked unsteadily, aided by a man who seemed shaky himself. The woman let out a sob as she neared the opened earth, and collapsed into her aide’s arms. The final resting place of her beloved was at hand, and she was not prepared.
Her knees weakened as her tears flowed, her cries no longer muffled as all restraint left her body. She wanted him back, near her, but all she could do is grieve her loss uncontrollably.
The many around her stirred in their discomfort. They seemed unable to reconcile the grief of this woman with their own need to feel immortal in the moment. Death and its inevitability can do that to people. For those who have lost, the grief can be unbearable. For those who witness that loss, the realization of mortality and what it means in our fragile sense of control can be discomforting.
We can always want more time with those we love. The time to value that time is before the end, not as you’re staring into a hole dug just for that purpose.
We can always wish for one more word. The time to utter it is before the end, not in the uncontrollable sobs that echo in every direction save the one they are intended for.
If you wish to be in love, be in love. If you wish to waste time, waste time. If you wish to stand one day at the stones of our end trying to find some final words to say, then consider life unending until that moment when the end finally comes. The beautiful thing about being human is the power of our choice. The curse of that power is often the unenviable burden of regret.
I had to get back to my office, so I said a prayer for the woman and those who have lost something today. For some, we’ve lost a loved one. For others, we’ve lost our sense of immortality and gained, in its absence, the discomfort of knowing that we rarely will know when the end is coming.
I’ve seen the end come for many, and I’ve seen the end come for those who they’ve left behind. Perhaps, in our discomfort with those things, we’d have an understanding of the importance of our moments when air flows freely through our bodies and blood courses bountifully through our flesh. Perhaps we’d kiss a bit more. Maybe we’d love each other a bit more comfortably. Not out of fear of the end of our time, but in honor of the time itself and the gifts that time provides.
“Hug me tighter tonight, for if the end comes before I wake let that memory be my eulogy. Kiss me before we close our eyes, for if the morning I am not meant to see let my last memory be of your lips, your breath, and the touch of your hand on my chest.” ~tg.