We have all seen some great Vaudeville or 
movie clip of someone being caught unaware, getting acquainted with a 2 x 4 delivered straight to the noggin.
And as amusing as those scenes can be (my favorite may be with Donald O’Connor in
Singin’ in the Rain
). I think they hit our funny bones because (I am pretty sure) we have all been bonked in the head or the backside a number of times—and often when we aren’t really paying attention, either. Maybe because we are taking ourselves, and our lives, too seriously.
And this was a 2 x 4 week for me. A dear, old friend died. He had been a close colleague of my father, and Bill and his wife populate the landscape of my earliest memories. She always chipper, and he a marvelous mix of wisdom and belly laughs, a serious countenance and kind, gentle heart. They have always been what I call 2-o’clock-in-the-morning friends. The ones you can call any day or in the middle of the night, walk directly to the front door, and find them on the front step. The ones with whom you just pick up a conversation like it was yesterday—even if it had been months since you spoke.
So what is the 2 x 4? Simply that not only will he not be here, I cannot be there for him. And I wish I had done more. I think this is something many of us experience, whether or not we can even articulate what more we would like to have done. I’m not sure that the details matter, really, since we cannot go back in time. It would be easy for us to chastise ourselves about not making one more phone call, or one more visit. But I fear that response has the potential to keep us focused on ourselves and cast a shadow on our memories and even the relationship.
When I think of all that this fine man has meant to me, I cannot bear to taint my memories with negative thoughts. I would far prefer to stand solid, take the 2 x 4 full on the forehead – and awaken to the wisdom he shared with me.
And the wisdom? It was simple. Live, and strive, and take things seriously, and always look for the blessings and the humor in things. To do, and be, and share, and love with all the generosity we have, which is boundless. To do what our souls most need us to do even in the midst of challenges. And to laugh. And laugh again. In other words: to live well.
Along with my congregational duties, I serve as a hospice chaplain. In both of those roles, as you well know or can imagine, I am at all times close to death and dying. And to be very honest, I have yet to accompany anyone to her last breath who says she wishes she judged herself more harshly, or lived more sparely, or loved less.
So here is another 2 x 4: without exception, those who live well, with awareness of their blessings and the idea that they could be blessings to others, die well, as Bill did. They pass without regrets. I am grateful that their souls warmed and strengthened mine, and I feel that when I share my soul with others, the neshamot (souls) of all whom I have accompanied go with me into the world, transferred to others through my heart and hands. And I am reminded of the teachings of our tradition: we never know the effect we will have on others, now or in generations to come. Which is another wake-up call in itself.
How amazing it is to stand in any one moment knowing we are carrying the wisdom and love of those whom we have loved, and who have loved us. And how strange it is that so easily forget! Perhaps by keeping this in mind we can go back in time, and bring the best of our loved ones forward, forging a new relationship with them and the world, and get down to the very serious wonder of living in love and joy.
Now go ahead and click on the Donald O’Connor link above.
You know you want to : ]
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