A friend said that about me once. I can think of worse epitaphs.
I just got home from the Pennsic War – hence the bare looking blog for the past few weeks – and that in of itself feels like the death of a piece of me. Pennsic is home in a way that I cannot describe to someone that has never been there.
But I was speaking of epitaphs in a conversation while at Pennsic. In fact, discussions of death and dying seem to have come up a lot lately in random conversations.
For example: A grandfather type figure in our life recently had a birthday in such a state of ill health that one wonders if he’ll be around to celebrate next year’s birthday… a friend’s horse went off to that big pasture in the sky a few weeks ago, leaving my friend bereft of his best-est four legged pal… and there’s a commission I lost because the elderly lady commissioning it wasn’t sure she’d be around long enough for me to finish the project.
Last (and most assuredly least), my favorite shirt – a shirt I made over ten years ago while in college has finally started giving up the ghost. It’s so threadbare in spots that there are holes. (Kind of reminds me of Mary Chapin Carpenter’s song…) Although I plan to deconstruct it, and use it as a pattern to make others like it, it’s days of my wearing it are over. It’s a small, insignificant end of an era, unnoticed by everyone except me.
How many little deaths go unnoticed, unobserved because we are too busy flying down the highway of life at warp speeds? Too many to count, would be my guess.
I’m going to touch base today with someone I haven’t talked to in a while. If I could be so bold, might I suggest you do the same?
“She connected with so many people, and lived her life in such a way that 6 traffic cops were needed to direct the 1500+ mourners to the funeral.”
As I said, there are worse epitaphs.