On life and living

Occasionally in the wonderful world of blogs, you stumble across an entry someone has left up in memoriam of someone they loved and lost. Though I generally read these entries, I, like most others I imagine, do so quickly and somewhat half-heartedly almost out of a sense of obligation either to the deceased or to the blogger and not because I find such postings particularly touching. After all, it's difficult to feel sympathy for someone you know only by a screen name who has lost someone you don't know from Adam. For that reason you'll have to forgive me as I try and keep this from being yet another one of those many cyber obituaries out there and instead just write a few words on death and dying. Besides, the person I know who died was a dear woman and I daren't mention her name out of respect for her so that if anyone should google her, they don't associate her with some of the mediocre quality cyber fodder that I normally write to litter the internet.

The deceased in this case is someone I met while having chemotherapy treatments. If you've never darkened the doorstep of a chemotherapy ward, don't. Those places are about as cheery as a convalescence home the day after Christmas. There's a row of reclining chairs, each one containing some poor soul who is having to sit while a delicate blend of Drano, contact lens solution and DDT is pumped through his veins which by the way are likely either collapsed or inflamed from phlebitis. Anyway, she and I were two of those souls sitting side by side and discussing family, friends and life before baldness. I showed a business card depicting me with hair and she noticed I was a real estate agent. I later received a phone call from her daughter and son-In-law who were shopping for a home. To make a long story short, they became dear friends whom I would not have met were it not for my chemomate a couple years ago. She touched my life in a major way that far transcended her own death.

Before my wife was going to the obstetrician twice a week and I was figuring out how to install a car seat, we wondered if we could even biologcally have children as one common side effect of cancer treatment is sterility. At that time I decided that if I could not spread genes I would spread memes. In other words, I wanted to die knowing that I had shared ideas, humor and views in such a way that those I knew and loved would feel affected and carry on those same thoughts to others long after I was gone. I wasn't shooting for philosopher, world leader, or international man of mystery, but I wanted to try and scatter shards of who I am long before my family scattered my ashes. I wanted to leave my impression.

Last week I was asked to sign a sympathy card for a coworker whose relative had died. When I opened up the card to read what others had written, I saw a lot of brief three- or four-word expressions, the most popular of which was Sorry for your loss. I suggest that whenever someone dies, we cherish the people around us even more. Furthermore, don't just cherish them. Let them know that they're cherished. If we wait until someone's death to reflect on what they had to offer us, it's too late. In that case, their death truly is a loss.

If you look around at the people near you, statistically none of them will be here in a hundred years. There's no cure for death and life is short. I implore you to determine what everyone you know has of value to offer so that you can partake of it and use it to make your life better. Conversely, find out what you have of value to share and share it. In the scheme of humanity, your time is running out. Make the most of it while you have the chance.