Notice by Steve Kowit This evening, the sturdy Levis I wore
every day for over a year
& which seemed to the end in perfect condition,
suddenly tore.
How or why I don't know,
but there it was - a big rip at the crotch.
A month ago my friend Nick
walked off the racquetball court,
showered,
got into his street clothes,
& halfway home collapsed & died.
Take heed you who read this
& drop to your knees now and again
like the poet Christopher Smart
& kiss the earth & be joyful
& make much of your time
& be kindly to everyone,
even to those who do not deserve it.
For although you may not believe it will happen,
you too will one day be gone.
I, whose Levis ripped at the crotch
for no reason,
assure you that such is the case.
Pass it on.
Yesterday I finally got to talk to my friend Nancy. We've been playing phone tag for months now, and it's been over a year since we've had one of our good, soul-nourishing conversations.
Nancy is one of the most "real" people I know. An alcoholic in recovery for nearly 20 years, she says it like it is with humor, quirkiness, and grace. I love that combination. You see, she knows she has no time to waste.
This is a woman who has endured much in the last few years. She and her first husband divorced five years ago. She remarried to her long-time friend and soul companion a short while later. The next year, her daughter M was thrown from a vehicle en route to a state sporting event. Her broken back left her paralyzed from the waist down. She was just 18 at the time of the accident.
Eighteen months later, Nancy's new husband D was test driving a moped for his teenage son. The brakes seized up and he was thrown from the moped, landing on his head. He was in a coma for several days before coming to. While he's made an amazing recovery his body and his mind are not what they once were. Yet Nancy loves this man with every fiber of her being and is patiently walking this journey with him.
A couple of months ago, daughter M realized what so many around her had long known: she, too, is an alcoholic. Now, just freshly out of treatment, M and Nancy are exploring a whole new world together.
Somehow, Nancy has managed to navigate this wildness of heart and body and soul with grace and dignity. I think it is because she enters her world with simplicity.
Nancy is a story magnet. In addition to her own stories, she's always got a good one to share with me. For instance, last week Saturday morning she and husband D were called up and invited to an impromptu wedding that would be taking place that afternoon. Their friend Angela has been living with cancer for five years. Four of those years she has shared life and home with Kevin. Angela has longed to marry Kevin, but Kevin was financially unable to take on the responsibility of the medical bills that have ensued during Angela's illness. A few weeks ago, Mayo Clinic sent Angela home to finish her last few weeks on earth surrounded by Kevin and her children, a teenager and three under the age of five. She and Kevin decided to have a ritual of love and blessing in their backyard surrounded by friends and family, and Angela's recent lifetime dream was realized. The priest from their church facilitated while Nancy received the video camera thrust into her hands as she arrived and recorded the event. Doctors expect Angela's life here will end in a few days.
Goodness, I am so soft with this. My life is so sweet and inescapably glorious. Yet I too will part ways with this earth. On this day that thought is so heartbreaking to me. I wish to grow soft and wrinkly with my husband, my curves snuggling ever-more gently into his. I long to meet the grown-up man my boy becomes. It is an ache in my heart to think it could be otherwise.
I wonder how you are dancing with the idea of your own death. How does knowing you will die inform how you live? How do you "drop to your knees now and again to kiss the earth?"
What would it mean to really celebrate your life?
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