So I had two unexpected reactions to my funeral music column. The first one was from my bishop, a wonderful man who's a therapist by trade. Anyway, he wanted to know if I'm doing . . . okay. And I said yes, because the truth is I'm thinking a lot less about death and so forth than I used to. The second one was from my neighbor Kathy who is now anxiously worrying about writing her talk for my funeral.
Anyway. Sorry! I didn't mean to throw my bishop and Kathy for a loop. They don't need loops! That's why I won't turn this blog post into a column anytime soon.
Okay, so my brother is a surgeon, right? And the good thing about having surgeons in the family is that they can hook you up with other surgeons when you fall down and break your wrist. And the other good thing is that they're always good for a useful graphic medical metaphor. For example, my brother, who is a buoyant, natural born optimist, has been known to say in mordant moments, "Well, one way or the other, all bleeding eventually stops."
I find this sentiment oddly comforting. In fact, I think we should all cross-stitch it on little pillows. It's a reminder that there's an end to things--pain, problems, disappointments, crap situations, whatever. And here's the good news, most of the time you're still alive once the bleeding, in fact, stops. I think this is awesome. Don't you agree?
(You can see, however, why I might not turn this into a column right away.)
6 comments:
Mmm I think I needed to read this today. Last night Millie decided her poo was the perfect consistency for finger paint. ALL OVER HER ROOM. AT 10 FREAKING PM. I was just done for the day, ready to chill for half an hour, when that horrific mess jumped out and attacked me. Following a no-break-at-all-from-the-twins-weekend I was a pretty darned unhappy mom. And I've been grumpy the majority of today because of it. But all bleeding eventually ends, and all toddlers learn to poo in the toilet.
Did you break your wrist? Or is that, hopefully, one of them metafers?
I heard the bishop ask you if you were okay and then I went home and read your column and wondered why he had asked that in the first place.
Then, of course, I worried that I might be a sociopath.
Tell Kathy I'll help her write the talk, but we'll have to do it before I die (a lot sooner than you, I assume).
Oh that's a great thought! My favorite part about having a brother for a doctor would have to be all of the gross stories he tells me. It's a little less fun since he graduated and he isn't relating stuff he learned in class. Dang hippa laws ruining my fun.
If the Killers "Are We Human" is played at your funeral, I may be forced to do the Jazzercise routine that goes with it. You've been warned.
so odd, I have always been fascinated with the fact that bleeding stops. I mean the coagulation and all amazes me. You cut yourself, you bleed and then it stops, like magic. It amazes me..I am glad others are amazed
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