It is appointed unto man...
I'm not a creature of habit but I do have three weekday morning rituals: popping the top on a Diet Mountain Dew, checking e-mail, and surfing the obituary section of my hometown newspaper, looking for dearly departed old family friends.
Yesterday I saw the name of a former classmate's brother, two years younger than me. Killed in an automobile accident. Left a wife and two small children.
Sigh.
The rest of the day I was in a zone of nostalgia. I caught myself thinking of people I haven't seen or thought of in years. Mysteriously, sympathetically (morbidly?) I vicariously put myself into the family's schedule of arrangements and visitations, trying to whisper prayers for them each step of the way. It was exhausting and depressing.
I was awakened this morning around 1:30 a.m. I began to pray for them again, and when finished, I could tell I was not about to drift off to sleep any time soon. The mood was too heavy. So I got up, climbed the stairs to the attic, and searched for the box that contains my high school yearbooks.
I haven't looked for or at those things in years. I squatted down beneath the rafters, leaning against the vent pipe of the water heater, and I stared at my past until the arches in my feet began to burn and my eyes began to water in the glare of the bare bulb and the blizzard of sheetrock dust and insulation. When physically I could stand no more, I toted the four heavy volumes back to the bedroom, and for the next hour and a half continued to flip the yellowing pages. About 3:30 a.m., I forced myself to try to sleep, and I must have, for mere minutes later the alarm went off.
At the office, I settled in with my Dew and e-mail and then linked over to the obits.
Would you believe the first name on the page was of a former cheerleader, two years ahead of me, whose pictures I had seen in my freshman and sophomore annuals less than five hours previous? Forty-two years old. Two children.
Oy.
Tomorrow, I think I'll try a Dr. Pepper. Ignore the e-mail until lunchtime.
And skip the obits all together.
Yesterday I saw the name of a former classmate's brother, two years younger than me. Killed in an automobile accident. Left a wife and two small children.
Sigh.
The rest of the day I was in a zone of nostalgia. I caught myself thinking of people I haven't seen or thought of in years. Mysteriously, sympathetically (morbidly?) I vicariously put myself into the family's schedule of arrangements and visitations, trying to whisper prayers for them each step of the way. It was exhausting and depressing.
I was awakened this morning around 1:30 a.m. I began to pray for them again, and when finished, I could tell I was not about to drift off to sleep any time soon. The mood was too heavy. So I got up, climbed the stairs to the attic, and searched for the box that contains my high school yearbooks.
I haven't looked for or at those things in years. I squatted down beneath the rafters, leaning against the vent pipe of the water heater, and I stared at my past until the arches in my feet began to burn and my eyes began to water in the glare of the bare bulb and the blizzard of sheetrock dust and insulation. When physically I could stand no more, I toted the four heavy volumes back to the bedroom, and for the next hour and a half continued to flip the yellowing pages. About 3:30 a.m., I forced myself to try to sleep, and I must have, for mere minutes later the alarm went off.
At the office, I settled in with my Dew and e-mail and then linked over to the obits.
Would you believe the first name on the page was of a former cheerleader, two years ahead of me, whose pictures I had seen in my freshman and sophomore annuals less than five hours previous? Forty-two years old. Two children.
Oy.
Tomorrow, I think I'll try a Dr. Pepper. Ignore the e-mail until lunchtime.
And skip the obits all together.
posted by Chris @ 9:00 PM
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