It's Alright Ma, it's Life and Life Only

"I've looked at life from both sides now;
From win and lose, and still, somehow,
It's life's illusions I recall,
I really don't know life at all."

When someone dies we bombard ourselves with all of the clichés. Our heart repeats a certain field of messages while our head repeats another, and then the people around us lend their comfort with yet another. They're all true, of course, but none of them really do what they're supposed to do. All we know is that it hurts and we're not sure if it's ever not going to hurt...

Although we know all of these clichés, we wonder if we're not just telling ourselves what we want to hear. What if there is no afterlife? What if the hope of being with our departed loved one "somewhere in the great by-and-by" is just a coping mechanism? What if, what if, what if... The truth is, if we do continue to exist after our bodies die, then we really have no way of knowing if any of the world's religious and spiritual explanations are accurate about what that entails, and if we just cease to be, then we'll never know anyway, so does it even matter? These are the thoughts that fill my waking consciousness, anyway, when someone I love dies.

On Friday morning we were wakened by the phone call. My ex-husband, Micah's father, died unexpectedly soon. We only just learned earlier in the week that he'd been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer that had spread to his kidneys. We thought he had at least a little more time than a few days. We'd spoken on the phone just a couple of days earlier.

Bill and I went through a terrible, hurtful divorce in 1977, but we'd made peace in November of 2007. I hadn't seen much of him in the years since our son turned 18, and we all had a great time together at our New Year's Eve party last year, and a great healing began to take place. It doesn't matter that we were divorced. We'd fallen in love, we'd been married, we'd had a child together, we'd had dreams. There was a bond there.

He was a great artist, one of the reasons I married him in the first place. He also looked like John Lennon when we met and had a lot of those Lennon quirks, especially the sardonic, sarcastic humor. He had the flashing Lennon smile. He was a master wood sculptor; I wish you could see his work; it will be in museums one day I'm sure, after we're all dead and gone.

But here's the WTF to all of this, which is why I quoted Joni Mitchell's great song, "Both Sides Now". After a life of hard work in the very difficult field of state mental health, Bill retired in April. He was looking forward to fishing in Wyoming, his favorite place in the world. He hadn't even gotten all of his retirement support worked out before he was diagnosed. Not only that, but a few years ago, he finally found the love of his life. They married and were living happily ever after when she was diagnosed with Alzheimers and had to be put in a nursing facility. They'd only gotten two years together before she died. What kind of crap is this? Jesustitsontoastalmighty!

My deepest condolences go to our dear son, Micah, to Joel on the loss of the only father he ever knew, to Bill's family and friends, and to our entire family.

Me, Bill & Joel
February 2, 1974