The opposite of death
On truth and surrender, in that order
Josh was outside talking to the neighbors when an ambulance pulled up in front of Sid’s house. There were no sirens, no lights. Just a quiet emergency that brought their voices to a whisper.
Had it finally happened?
Out of respect for the man he wasn’t sure was alive, Josh came back inside and gave Sid his privacy. We later heard he had died the following day.
I wrote about Sid last year when I first learned of his cancer diagnosis. I planned to visit him often, but as it goes, I got busy. Or maybe that was my excuse for not knowing what to say to the dying.
…to soften
I’ve been carrying a theme of impermanence this week. Last Sunday, I wrote about my unlikely fascination with Orwell, the orb weaver in my backyard and by Monday morning he was gone. Sid has stage 4 cancer. Josh was fiddling with our broken irrigation system on the side of the house when he hobbled over and broke the news. “It’s been a rough year,” said …
I didn’t know him personally. He and his wife signed off on our proposal to have a fence installed and repeatedly invited us over for cocktails. I didn’t know how to explain the concept of NA beers to an 80-something year old cowboy, but I wish we’d have gone over anyway.
I step outside and notice dandelions growing tall above an otherwise perfectly manicured lawn, his SUV still in the driveway. For a moment, I forget he’s gone. The world on Via Almonte looks exactly the same as it did before the ambulance drove away with him inside. I wonder if his kids are enjoying this warm day or if the sunshine, brazenly bright and fleeting, feels like a mockery of their grief.
Soon after Sid’s death, the wife of one of Josh’s oldest friends lost her battle with breast cancer. Morgan was 39, my age when it happened. I took Josh’s call from the corner of my yoga studio as hail spilled from the clouds onto the skylight, drowning out the terrible news. “I love you so much,” he said. “I just wanted to hear your voice.” We hung up the phone. I donated to her gofundme. And then, like dandelions, the day grew long and went on.
I recently had the pleasure of hearing Liz Gilbert speak at the historic Balboa Theatre in San Diego. And while I planned to write about the experience as a way of archiving her brilliance, I’ve since decided to keep the memory close to my heart, personal and private. Just for me. There is one story though. It’s the one about her friend Richard, the Texan from Eat, Pray, Love whose answer to everything was: “It’ll all be alright.” She told us how he had died in his sleep with his hands folded over his chest. How even in death, he stayed calm.
Death surrounds me. I can’t help but anticipate it. The sister of an addict, I keep a collection of half-written eulogies in my mind. When I plan for vacation, I double check the terms of travel insurance to see if it covers the death of a family member. It does. The last time I saw my brother, I hugged him and told him that every time we meet, I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see him. He told me he’s alright. The Liz to his Richard, I have no choice but to believe him. “Hope springs eternal,” as my therapist would say.
On March 31st, I opened my Notes app and wrote:
The opposite of death is not life, it is truth.
At the time, I was chewing on the idea of much larger truths. Truths with a capital “T” that define our personhood. Truths, that when unexpressed, feel like a certain death—like a life half lived. But what of the millions of tiny truths that make a life? Truths as values and decisions. Truths with a lower case “t” that unite to form the big ones like gender or sexuality.
This idea of tiny truths pulls at me as I waver on a choice I can’t seem to make even though I know the answer. Because while the circumstance itself is quite insignificant in the grand scheme of things—there is a certain urgency that’s hard to ignore. The signs are everywhere like an open note test from the Universe.
And there are really only two choices. I can choose to follow my intuition, trusting my inner guidance or I can stand still, extinguishing the flame, silencing the call from within. The former, while uncomfortable, feels expansive and true. The other feels like abandonment and self betrayal—in other words, a loss. A death. I wonder if this is why we speak in hyperboles. “I’d rather die than go out with them again!” Or why panic attacks make people feel as if they’re dying.
I caught up with Sid at the mailbox just weeks before he passed. He seemed frail and unafraid. I held his gaze, no longer worried I’d say the wrong thing. “I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Well,” he replied, pausing with a shrug and a smile. “I’ve outlived all my friends. I’ve had a good life.”
“It’ll all be alright” is the song of surrender. And yet the act of surrender does not absolve us from living. This one precious life requires us to stand in our truth and then do something about it. Only then can we relinquish control over the outcome before starting all over again. This perpetual dance between agency and acceptance is exhausting. It is also the biggest gift. What a radical belief, this idea of infinite lives. To know that as long as we are breathing, we have infinite chances to start over again.
A short list of what I’m into this week I was into in March!
Do you ever get an email and wonder “How did I get on this list?” Not me. I know exactly how because I continually sign up for stuff like this. There is nothing I love more than being introduced/reintroduced to new/old music. So what if they’re selling my email addy to companies who peddle bootleg band merch on Instagram? Hit me, babe. I’ve been searching for the right Fleetwood Mac tee for years.
I caught Arlo Parks at The Observatory and she is just as angelic in person as she is on her records. Check her out if you’re into tender love songs peppered with spoken word.
My love affair with the public library will never die; it is only ever strengthened with each new offering. Mine has recently released the California Parks Pass, giving residents a week’s worth of free entry and parking at coastal campgrounds and hiking trails. Be still, my filthy socialist heart! They also release a limited number of free passes to the San Diego Zoo at midnight on the first of every month in an absolute bloodbath of a virtual queue. My failed attempts to secure a pass will not dissuade me! We ride again at dawn (11:59pm on July 31st)!
Beautiful. So much food for thought to start my day ♥️ Deeply grateful to you and your honesty, Heather 🥹 “The opposite of death is not life, it is truth.” I’ll remember that one.