Living Wake
posted at 6:14 pm
on Mar. 4, 2011
Previous entry:
The Day My Knee Got Hurt (aka What Happens to Horses?)
Next entry:
Knee Update
I went last night to a living wake for a friend, Derek Miller.
I say friend; I mean acquaintance. I haven’t ever had dinner with he and his wife, nor do I know the names of each of his kids and parents.
But I did say friend, and why not? Derek has a way of making friends of all of the people he meets, of touching the lives of more people than most of us ever do.
He’s a musician, and a story teller, and when someone is dying, I would sound churlish to undervalue my emotional connection to him. “Oh, yes, it’s a sad situation, but you know, he’s just an acquaintance.” To hell with being timid; we are all in this together.
=-=-=
I’ve never been to a living wake before. It was like a wedding, with the colliding social circles and the sense that something important is being marked, but with less formulaic speeches.
The speakers all said really touching things, but ... what do you say? And what do you say when the man who really does have something to say, Derek, a) lost his voice earlier this week, and b) has a blog upon which he’s said so many things, so well and for so long? He’s a hard act to precede.
I told Laura I was going to a living wake, and she said, “i cant.. imagine.. just waiting to die. knowing you will soon.. or.. soon-ish”
And I thought to myself: You’re so right. Because, even though in some sense that’s what we’re all facing, our choice is to wait for it, or to do something now, in death’s face, despite it, to spite it.
And ultimately, that was the feeling I left the wake with: Derek’s friends and family telling stories about hope, about love, about memories, and about choosing how you spend your days, your nights, and the limited time we all have here in Vancouver and the 20,000 km you can travel away from it.
=-=-=
Earlier yesterday, an ex-girlfriend of mine messaged me out of the blue. I hadn’t heard from her in a long time; it was one of the most unexpected things I’ve had happen to me in ages. We had some good catching-up conversation, commiserated on the busy-ness of life, and the (usual?) things people talk about. She’s doing the things people do: romance, travel, work, and dealing with the general troubles the human body throws at us to remind us that we’re flesh and bone.
Google Chat isn’t the best venue for reconnecting… or perhaps it is, come to think of it. How much harder would it be if you had to drive a horse-drawn wagon over to my farm and actually knock on my door? Lots. I don’t have a farm, for instance.
=-=-=
Driving to the Waldorf’s tiki room for the wake, I thought about endings, and beginnings.
You never know what tomorrow will bring. You never know whether a conversation will be your last, or who’s on the other end when the phone rings (assuming you forget to look at Caller ID), or if a person beside you at a party will turn out to be a creep, a nobody or your next best friend.
And waiting around isn’t going to help you find out.
So I’d better get out there.
Thanks, Derek, for the life lesson.
