Getting old we can deal with ... it's more the being old that is the problem! My father turned 80 in January. This is a bit of a miracle in itself, because I never thought he'd live that long for as much as he smoked beginning even in his preadolescent years and continuing until a year ago. Nevermind that he's already suffered at least two prior strokes. As an aside, why is it that both sides of my family seem to only have strokes??? That is certainly not the way I want to exit this world ... unless it is just one massive stroke and I'm gone. But my father is now a shell of the tall, strapping man he once was. Despite the fact that his mind is still very sharp, in many ways he's a shadow of his former self ... stooped over, hard of hearing, and much more frail than I could ever remember. It grieved me to see him this way at our last Currieo family reunion this past June, just how much he'd lost even over the preceding year. Anyway, I now know that his time could be anytime. And after that, I'm next. A simple but yet frightening thought. What do you do when death's natural pecking order puts you at the front of the line? When you can no longer hide behind, "It's not my turn?"
What do people fear most about death? Hmmm. Well, for one thing, it's what happens next? Where do we go? Is it what we imagined? Does anything actually happen at all? Or is it just over and we no longer exist? Of course, if you know me, you know I don't believe that. But our next biggest fear I think, is being forgotten.
Rabbi Albert Lewis called this "the second death." Of course, we all know "the second death" to be eternal death and greatly to be feared. But this "second death" is also a painful thing to ponder. How often do you ever see someone go to a cemetery and decorate a grave? When I was a child, people did this on Memorial Day but now no one even seems to bother any longer. When was the last time I visited the grave of my own mother? Not since my college/medical school days. For shame!
I recall a poem by Thomas Hardy that speaks of a man walking among tombstones, conversing with the dead below. The recently buried souls lamented the older souls that had already slid from memory:
They count as quite forgot
They are as men who have existed not,
Theirs is a loss past loss of fitful breath
It is the second death.
The second death ... The unvisited in nursing homes. The homeless found frozen in alleys. Who mourned their passing? Who marked their time on earth? To think that you died and no one would remember you. I wonder if this is why so many try so very hard to make their mark in America? To be known. Think of how important celebrity has become in our culture. We sing to become famous, expose our worst secrets to become famous, lose weight, eat bugs, even commit murder to become famous. Our young people post their deepest thoughts on public Web sites like this and Facebook. They run cameras from their bedrooms. It's as if we are screaming, Notice me! Remember me! Yet the notoriety barely lasts. Names quickly blur and in time are all but forgotten.
Is there a way to avoid this "second death?" In the short run, perhaps yes, simply via one's family. We can hope to live on for a few generations ... when they remember us, we live on. When they speak of us, we live on. All the memories we have made, all the laughter, all the tears. But even that, too, is limited. If we do a good job, we may be remembered for one generation or perhaps two. But eventually they are going to say, "What was his name again?" How many generations, even in especially close-knit families, does it take for this fabric to unravel???
This is one more reason why faith is so important. It is a rope for all of us grab, up and down the mountain. I may not be remembered in so many years. But what I believe and have taught and shared about Christ, about the foundations of our faith -- that can go on. It comes from our parents and their parents before them. And it stretches to my children and hopefully to their children after them. Then we are all connected. And we have hope to all be reunited on the other side.
Ashley & Matt arrived here last night and we all went to Jordano's to share a pizza that I call the Delight ... most just know it as the Deluxe. Today Ariel and Alli will arrive, and we'll make more family memories as we have done so many countless times before. But it dawned on me yesterday that this is precisely how a legacy is built. One memory at a time. My kids are almost all grown now. My oldest is a nurse. My number two graduates from college in four weeks and soon will begin her career as a missionary teacher in Venezuela. My number three is just two semesters away from entering nursing school herself. My baby is about to finish ninth grade. We'll likely take our annual Christmas picture on the beach tomorrow. I hope to look at that picture and say, "Steve, you've done okay." This in many ways is my immortality.
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