A clever colleague claimed in a response to the last posting that if he had to take what he got by way of a final image on his death bed it would likely be that of the pizza and beer scenario because he doubted he’d ever risk engaging deeply with a total stranger. Good shot, Ed.
If I implied in the last post that I’d settle for a vision of a couple of sweet strangers on a bench in Norway over any other image then I misled you, friends. I’m holding out for it being my lovely wife, a daughter, a grandchild or even a son-in-law. No, wait, let it be our last family Christmas portrait. Yeah, that’s it and nobody gets slighted. If I’m forced to choose between loved ones I think I’ll opt for a scene depicting grandson, John. He was four and we were sitting in front of a car-wash office waiting for his mother’s truck when he suddenly bolted toward a busy intersection. I jumped up along with four other patrons and chased him. Before he reached the street he stopped, unzipped his pants and peed on a telephone pole. Honest to god; his other granddad taught him to pee outdoors and not I. He had already killed about three bushes in our backyard and I explained to him that they don’t grow on trees in the desert. Motorists were honking at him and giving a thumbs up. He looked at me, grinned and hollered “Gotcha, Grampa Buzz.” I was relieved but then so was he! He did ‘gotcha’ me but I too had to give him a thumbs up. That’s the image I hope to have before I take my last breath if I get to be selective. I’m pretty sure those moments became embedded in my being for all time.
My hunch is we’ll have to accept what we get with what pops up. If strangers with whom we’ve run deep are part of the grand plan then we might be shocked even under the circumstances given where we’ve been and whom we’ve encountered throughout our lives. One character that comes to mind would scare the bejeebers out of patients no matter what condition they were in at the end. I’m thinking about a transient I met in a dingy bar on Skid Row in Los Angeles while serving as a street chaplain. I ran as deep with him in two-hours as I have with anyone else in my life. Here’s what I may be imagining and possibly feeling if all my senses are intact just before the sheet-covering ritual; I’m seeing and smelling an uncombed, smiley, toothless, bad-breath, energized guy with spittle at the corner of his mouth inches from my face. Give me a break.
If we remain determined to live in highly populated settings and pass within inches of strangers, not to mention most of our neighbors, without attempting to bond once with at least a few in a life-time something is seriously amiss. Why would a grand creator bother to punch out so many humanoids only to be ignored? We may go out of our way to feed, clothe and provide shelter for the dispossessed, for example, and such gracious gestures may allow them to live a little longer but perhaps not help us or them live any deeper.
OK, the sentiments expressed in the last paragraph may seem pretty harsh but there does not appear to be an effective relational model for urban, suburban, rural or town living in our time. We mainly engage deeply from birth to death with our families and friends, and most of us want to retain those ties on the Other Side. When and if we get there St. Peter is likely to ask “With whom would you like to try to run deep, a few of those billions that have checked in over there or a dozen of your kin and friends down the road?”
“Could we just do a little of both, kind sir?”
“How about a lot of both!”