Des Cendres Aux Cendres...

Even at our birth, death does but stand aside a little. And every day he looks towards us and muses somewhat to himself whether that day or the next he will draw nigh. - Robert Bolt

Today I’m feeling curiously torn between meditations on my own mortality and outbursts of laughter at the giggle-inducing shows I have been watching, namely Bring It On and Legally Blonde. Let’s compromise shall we? Contemplation for the sake of catharsis, followed by a patented Elle Woods 'bend and snap' to clear my mind.

During the senior week celebrations leading up to my college graduation, one of our number passed away on Mothers’ Day. There we were, bedecked in our formal wear (black and silver for yours truly) and waiting on the ship that was to take us along Lake Champlain for the senior week ‘booze cruise’ when most of the senior class received the devastating news. Laughter turned to silent sobs and hysterical tears as we held hands and prayed for his safety. All we were told was that his body was missing in the Winooski River, a luckless consequence of a capsized canoe. Just the night before we received this gut-wrenching news, he was playing in the band at one of our senior week parties. We held a prayer service for him in the chapel that night. The next day his body was pulled from the Winooski River. He was 21 years old.

A young Barbadian male lived a year with one foot in the grave: having refused to drive with his friends who met their deaths last year, he was snatched away from us by the maws of the sea.

Today I wept for another friend that passed away a few years ago. At the tender age of 18, ovarian cancer claimed her life. Just recently in the news, a 17 year old boy was shot, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A 29 year old male of my mother’s acquaintance died tragically about a month ago, and a 26 year old son of a coworker is currently battling cancer.

When did the proverbial lifespan drop from 3 score and 10? When did funeral masses become commonplace for people barely old enough to walk into a bar? It saddens, distresses and above all scares me. I am quite sure that these people saw long, full lives ahead of them. Just like us, they were drunk on the wine of youth and basking in the giddy delirium of perceived immortality. I doubt that they rose from their dreams and seriously entertained the thought, 'I could die today.' The mocking hand of irony proved them horribly wrong.

The unkind paradox however is the sense of security we reasonably have, coupled with a plausible sense of uncertainty. That is to say that, death at this age actually is rather unlikely. So although we glibly repeat maxims like ‘Live each day like it’s your last!’ we rarely do, since it is statistically unlikely to be. Young, seemingly healthy people do not usually die; hence young deaths stand out as particularly dreadful. On the other hand though, we cannot help but think that those who fell victim to the Grim Reaper probably embraced that same argument … until their eyes were forever closed.

If we were made to know our last day among the living, what would we do? Which bridges would we mend? Whose forehead would we kiss? Who would we contact and beg for forgiveness? Who would we remember fondly, bitterly or not at all? Who would we thank simply for being there? Would we wish that we had more often thrown caution to the wind, dismissed practicality and grabbed happiness in this life where it presented itself?

So what now? We could resolve to live each day like it really is our last, or we could quite logically conclude that the statistics are on our side and that we are unlikely to drop dead in our sleep or be mowed down by a masked gun(wo)man. Funny thing is though, the statistics were on their side too…