There is no Death!

My Zaida Max

     Today, my friend S shared a piece from Roger Ebert's journal entitled "I Remember You" which describes his dismay as more and more of the important people in his life pass from this world into the next.  In particular, Ebert is bothered by the way in which those people fade, not from this world, but from our memories.  He details, in his typically amazing writing, his realization that he's the only person left in his family that could recognize his uncle, Ben.  He was at the funeral of a cousin when he saw a photo in the family slide show and was

 . . . startled, and waited for it to come around again. I pointed at the screen and started to write a note to explain, but it was no use: Now that this cousin had died, there was no one in the room who would have understood--not even his own younger sister. 

The photo showed a family gathering in front of a small house in North Champaign, on some land where there's now a shopping mall. In the second row, much taller than anyone else, was Uncle Ben. He was married to Aunt Mame, my father's oldest sister. He drove an oil truck, and when he passed our house he sometimes tooted his horn and I'd run out in front and wave.

He was high above me in the cab of the truck, a considerable figure. He smoked cigars, which I found odd and unusual. I remembered him being tall, but in childhood everyone seems tall. In the old photo, I realized how tall he really was.

I think there's a chance I was the only person in the room who knew it was Uncle Ben in the second row. There were probably a dozen who knew in general who the picture showed--ancestors on the mother's side--but does the name or an idea of Uncle Ben linger on earth outside my own mind? When I die, what will remain of him?

Ebert makes a really strong point: as long as we are remembered, even if our body no longer remains on this Earth, we still live.  But what happens when even the memories of us are gone?  Of course, one can hardly ruminate on such a subject as it applies to another without thinking about ourselves, and Ebert is no exception. In discussing several good friends with whom he spent many happy times--but are no longer alive, he says: 

I remember them. They exist in my mind--in countless minds. But in a century the human race will have forgotten them, and me as well. Nobody will be able to say how we sounded when we spoke. If they tell our old jokes, they won't know whose they were.

That is what death means. We exist in the minds of other people, in thousands of memory clusters, and one by one those clusters fade and disappear. Some years from now, at a funeral with a slide show, only one person will be able to say who we were. Then no one will know.

     I understand where Ebert is coming from.  It's a terrifying thought to consider that you may, one day, be unknown to anyone.  A couple years ago, I came across a gorgeous and well-tended baby book dating to the end of the 19th century.  Several old photos were affixed to the pages featuring a young infant. A lock of brittle hair was included in a pocket on another page. Several of the child's details were written, in curly inked handwriting, across the pages.  I was amazed to realize that perhaps no one from this child's family wanted this precious memento of an ancestor.  Seeing how loved the child had been, it seemed utterly incomprehensible to me, and yet, here was this baby book, for sale, in a bookstore.  Apparently, the child--or the adult he became--was no longer remembered or cherished.

     How can we not fear that someone similar could happen to us?  That our lives might not have any meaning, in the end?  And yet, although I sympathize with  Ebert's concerns--how can I not?--I think that there are many ways that memories continue to exist long after we do.

The TV version of Mr. Edwards, with Laura

     A commenter on Ebert's Journal, Jennifer Morrow, points out that writing is one of the ways to extend memory.  She notes that because Ebert wrote about his memories of Uncle Ben, we can now all remember him, and that is the "beauty of writing." She went on to make a connection to the Roman poet Catullus, while I thought of Mr. Edwards from Little House on the Prairie.  The Little House books were a major part of my childhood, and the images Laura painted with her writing have never left my mind.  Mr. Edwards loomed larger than life (after all, he met Santa Claus!), and it's impossible for me to forget the stories she told about him.  Although it's possible that he is an amalgamation of several men that her family knew in Kansas, nonetheless, the stories are the memories she accumulated from interactions with other human beings.  Although she passed away in 1957, and most of those who may have known him probably left us long before then, millions of readers (and, eventually, TV viewers) grew to know him because of her writing.  Shakespeare himself makes this argument in "Sonnet 18" when he says:

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Obviously, writing is a wonderful way to memorialize those we know and ensure that others will always know them in the way we did.

My Bubbe Manya and Zaida Max

     Beyond writing, there are other ways that our memory lives on. Another is in stories.  My family, like many, tells stories of our relatives and ancestors whenever we get together. Some of them are so often told that most of us can recite them along with the teller, but we enjoy them ever time.  In fact, my sisters and I eagerly clamored to hear the stories over and over, until we, too, had memorized them.  Some of these stories featured relatives we never met in person, including my father's grandfather, Zaida Max, who died long before my parents even met.  My great-grandfather came to live with my grandparents when my dad and uncle were both in college but still living at home.  They got to know him in a way that had not before been possible, and the stories they tell about him are hilarious, charming, and give me such a picture of Zaida Max that, although I never met him, I feel as if I have.  That's why it was so surprising when my uncle shared a photo of Zaida Max (above) when we were visiting him last summer: he stood so rigid and unsmiling that I literally didn't recognize him. Uncle Ron says that his Zaida always stood that way in photos: regal, formal, and hardly like the person I'd come to know through their stories.  This is the man, after all, who is famous for saying, although was born and died a Jew, "When I was a young man, I used to eat a lot of bacon."!  I realized in that instant that unless my family had shared their stories of my great-grandfather, I never would have really understood who he was.  These photos don't tell even half of the story, although the one at the top of the page seems much more like the man I see in my mind.

So, writing, stories, and, even, genealogy (but that's a story for another time) are ways we can continue to live on even after we--and those who knew us--are gone.  Ebert got it right: as long as we are remembered, we never truly die.  But that doesn't mean that we only live as long as those who've known us directly do.  As long as those who know us share their memories with others, through writing, stories, artwork, and more, we'll continue to live on and on.  And that's pretty comforting.

Unique Stress Relievers

I had a really anxious day last week. Sometimes I'm amazed by how much jittery energy can flow through my body at one time, considering the “healthy” dose of anti-anxiety meds I'm on. In spite of "better living through chemistry," from time-to-time I find myself in need of something else to help calm my wild nerves. I've collected a couple of rather unique ways to cope, and I thought I’d share them with you in hopes that you find some inspiration!

1. At the Carwash ("work, and work...")

About a ten-minute drive from our house is an oasis of calm and peace: the Magic Carwash. There's something immensely soothing about this drive-through carwash:  from the shush, shush of the bright blue brushes that swirl around the car in a shower of foamy soapsuds, to the susurration of the long blue strips of chamois as the slide over the hood, and even the gentle swaying of the car as it's guided past each station. Sometimes, I imagine that I'm under the sea in a slowly swaying kelp forest, and since the ocean is one of my favorite places in the whole world, this fantasy gives me a sense of calm and rest. By the time my clean, shiny car slides out the other end, my spirit is restored and I'm ready to face the world with a peaceful heart.

Wheeeee....there goes my stress!

2. On The Swings

I've never been any good at sports, but I did learn one athletic skill in elementary school: how to pump my legs while swinging so I didn't need anyone to push me.  Even though I'm scared of heights, I’ve always found swinging to be a source of great joy. I still love an occasional ride on a park swing when I'm down, but the time when this brought me the most peace was when I was in college at CLU.  My junior year was the most stressful time I had as an undergrad, and I found myself in great need of a stress-reliever after tests or big presentations. I'm not sure how it started, but I developed a ritual of making the time to always spend 15 minutes on the swings in the park near my dorm room after each tough assignment or test was over. It always calmed me down, and sometimes, I even convinced a friend to join me!

3. My Bathroom

Okay, this one’s weird enough that I even contemplated keeping it to myself, but I find my bathroom to be one of my favorite places for stress relief!  We renovated our upstairs bathroom a couple years ago, and it has truly become my haven.  Decorated in my favorite colors, with a periwinkle blue floor and bright yellow walls, I find it both peaceful and energizing.  There are three huge windows under an eave, so I am able to enjoy sunshine without being too hot in the summer.  There are a million lights around our mirror, and every bulb is full-spectrum, to chase away my winter blues, but we have them on a dimmer, so I can turn them way down to take a comforting bath with candles.  My latest book is usually there, too.  The fact that it’s a place where I can shut the door and shut out the world has a lot to do with why I find my bathroom a perfect place to cope with anxiety.

4. The Beach…on an overcast day

Notice: gloomy beach = happy Laurie! :)

While I’m fairly certain a sunny beach is a favorite place for most people to relax, I find the beach helps me most when it’s overcast and deserted.  I like to walk on the cool, wet sand, listen to the seagulls and waves, and breathe in the sea air. Just the smell of the salt water makes me shoulders sink down to a healthy position and drives away any anxiety that has me in its grip. The gloomier the weather, the better…probably because it means I can be alone with my thoughts and enjoy my favorite place in the world on my own terms.  I stay away on those hot, sunny days when the beach is covered in sun worshipers, but if it’s overcast and cool, you can bet I’ll be down by the water!

5. Laughing!

Scientists have frequently touted the health benefits of laughter, and I’m sure you have your own “research” that supports their claim.  It’s hard to feel stressed or gloomy when you’re laughing until your sides hurt!  So laughing itself is hardly novel, but I find that what makes me laugh usually is.  You know when you’re in a theatre watching a movie and suddenly, you hear someone laughing loudly although everyone else is silent?  That’s me!  I have a strange sense of humor and things that make me laugh seem to rarely inspire others to the same response.  I find that absurdity and irony provide the kinds of laughs that make me feel everything will be alright, so when I’m feel anxious, I keep a look out for those kind of things.

Now that I’ve shared some of my more unique ways to handle anxiety, I’d love to hear what you do.  Please share your tips and tricks in the comments section; I look forward to learning some new ways to keep my cool!