“Yer not gonna die!” – Hazel Lindberg, circa 1958
That was my mom’s initial reaction to the bleeding stumps or the askew angled limbs of her five children as they paraded before her, each in turn. It was a statement intended to stop the damn screaming long enough for an assessment of damage. It sometimes worked. She was correct, 100%. We did not die, not one of us. We have, in fact, lived long and sort-of prospered, each of us to our own way. We have scars, marks, mileposts but remain. We remain and almost cheerfully. We live, for our time being, in a condition that passes for happily. Almost good. Good enough.
What did I expect when I fell out of the Mulberry tree onto the sharp prow of the sled, my nose bent off to the side afterwards, blood pouring out? Was I expecting St. Peter’s calming voice? “Have you filled out the questionaire?” When I ran screaming and bleeding into the house, was I expecting Mom to fill it out for me? Was I expecting the ambulance’ urgent wail, the bell tolling for me?
Yes, after a fashion. I was expecting something when I fell from the tree, face first onto the prow of the sled. I was afraid I would die. I was certain, having watched TV and read comic books, that it was over for me. With my nose smashed, the pouring blood, I was on my way out before I had a chance to do anything. I was going to die before I got my lifework done. (I conveniently forgot that Wil – E – Coyote always rose again.) Oh, my God! I am not ready! This is a permanent thing! I am forever changed! It is the end of a world! Save me Mom! Save me Jesus!
As one ‘situation’ led to yet another on the road to surviving childhood, I became aware how unprepared I was for any of the situations living brings. Dying, of course being one situation that living brings. (I think, these days that dying primarily happens to the living ones or things – although you might say a star is a living thing so all things die, I think even the universe and it’s time and space will). My impression of death was that a ton of blood would be involved or horrific pain or labored breathing or bizarrely upended vehicles or large dogs with glistening teeth… That is what I have expected death to at least begin with. Probably, after the initial sting, death would be as drawn out as that of any superhero or good cowboy or beloved pet (who had just saved the world and offered his life as fair trade) I ever observed. Having now witnessed a few up close deaths, a few disappearing souls, I have some new thoughts.
Maybe, death begins at the moment of birth, as if spitting out a living being is the same thing as leaving the turkey out on the counter. The turkey was alive (in a sense, if you are unaware of where food comes from or what it has to go through on it’s way to you) in the fridge but starts to change into not a turkey, a dead turkey. (If you think that death involves stinking and liquifying.) I am one of the 7 billion or so of us who have been left out on the counter. Every day, a new rivulet, a new grey spot, a more putrid odour, a less appealing visage.
We cannot put ourselves back in the fridge, that is just the way of it. No matter our fear of death, no matter our cries for mercy, no matter our science, no matter our drugs, no matter our organization of society, no matter the mom we go running to, no matter the God we plead with or try to appease…we and everything else are going to die. Zip. Done. Used up and stinking. Wasted. That we should fear this is more an outside fabrication, a thing to waste time with. What can there be to fear? Hell? Heaven? No more cherry pie? God will be mad at you and send you south?
Inside, we know fear is a waste of time – death has to happen. “Y’ might as well relax”, just like the proctologist says. What is peculiar, is that if you do relax – the proctologist visit can be a whole lot more interesting. If you do relax – getting up and going to work can be a lot less stressful. If you do relax – bankruptcy doesn’t hurt so bad. If you do relax – there is suddenly enough time to stare out the window at the squirrels. If you do relax – humming and spending your precious life hours watching tv or eating too much or not being beautiful or not being a famous author or playing piano badly can be as useful as any other activity. Nope. Doesn’t matter.
“So, Mom…you are wrong, I am going to die. Yes, Mom…you were right, not at this moment. Yes, Mom…we should calm down, wipe away the transitional blood, assess the damage, fix what we can and — carry on. Every fall from every Mulberry tree on the way toward our actual death will leave a mark. I have a bent nose to remember the tree and sled incident. I have a broken heart, a large white scar in various places to remember other incidents. Until Alzheimer’s gets me, I will not be able to erase or reverse the tape of my fall from the Mulberry tree. That tape exists. Bleeding like hell was temporary. My bent nose, permanent but that permanence, temporary. Haha. Jeez, I hope God isn’t too awful pissed off at me.
Robert On The Air 