Samhain Thanksgiving Moon
Driving home from the grocery store today I went past the street down which Dick Mestrich used to live. Used to live in the sense that he died a couple of years ago. It felt like there was a hole there at the end of the street, a place where my knowing went and came back with a false report, an absence.
It led me to think what it would be like if I still lived in my hometown of Alexandria, a town of around 5,000. I knew people on most streets, classmates, friends of classmates, friends of my parents, business owners, people from church. By now, at age 66, I can drive past many homes where my knowing would report an absence. Jim Ragsdale out on Harrison Street. Pancreatic Cancer. Richard Lawson and Richard Porter out south on Harrison, Alexandria’s main street. Richard Lawson from injuries sustained in Vietnam, Richard Porter from a fast-moving disease. Sherry Basset. Dennis Sizelove, died
in Vietnam. Even Karl Kyle the owner of the funeral home that sat diagonally from our house and where my mom’s funeral was held. Mom and Dad, of course.
As we get older the list gets longer, places where our knowing no longer functions, a hole in our social fabric.
Regina Schmidt, too. Here. Moon. I’m aware that this is how it has been and how it will be. Death changes life even for the living. Why this came up for me today, I don’t know. But it did.
One more thing. It feels ok. Death taught me its deeply personal lesson long, long ago when my mother died. I’ve known since then that life is a precious gift, one that can be lost with no forewarning. This life, this unexplainable awareness and mobility and love, is ours on loan. The universe wants its elements back, has another use for them.
This holiday I’m thankful for their organization in myself and the people I know, and in the people I’ve known. A deeply weird opportunity, life.