A wise man once said, “How we deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life, wouldn’t you say?”

I don’t know if that’s true or not. We try to prepare ourselves for the inevitability of death as often as possible. We see the cycles that life sets up for us to remind us of our temporary status. Our pets die. Trees die. Winter comes and goes. Life renews.

And yet we are never prepared. Even if we know the moment is coming, death hits us like a fist right between the eyes. The news of death leaves us numb, tired and confused. It puts us on automatic pilot as we prepare ourselves for the next steps.

It also puts our life on automatic replay. Memories come pouring into your mind. Good memories, mostly. It’s as if you start to hit the edit button and make your life’s highlight tape for the lost loved one. You decide what to keep and what to throw away.

And guilt hits. Could you have done more? Could you have shown up more? Made your presence felt? Could you have been more attentive? More loving? Kinder? Gentler?

This is all natural. And none of the questions can be answered. There is nothing you could have done. Nothing you can do. But the questions will continue.

I found out that my Uncle Jim died this afternoon. Oddly, my first thought was, “How foolish was I being at the moment he passed?”

Why did this thought occur to me? There is no doubt that I was being foolish. I am always being foolish. But why was I concerned about that moment?

I suppose it is guilt. Guilt that there is a possibility that while someone’s chapter in my life ended, I may have been dancing. Or laughing. Or making coffee.

I don’t want that footnote in the chapter.

I don’t remember what I was doing at the time Uncle Jim died. But I do know that right now I wish I had done more when he was alive. He’s only been gone a few hours and already I regret that I hadn’t spent more time with him. I should have. I know I should have.

But already my edit button has been going. I’m casting aside the guilt and preparing the legacy. I’m remembering the doorbell Uncle Jim had at his old house. And the stories he told me. And the fishing and vacations. And how his bright, shining face was always there to remind my family how good life could be.

Some people can live and die and not leave a mark on the world. I just hope that Uncle Jim knows, wherever he may be, that he left an indelible mark upon me. And that I’m glad for every moment he spent with me. That I cherish the memories he helped create.
Thanks Uncle Jim. Thanks for the all too few moments where our lives intersected. Please say hello to Mom, Dad, Trudy and Grandpa O. If you get a chance, let Grandpa draw a face on a balloon for me. Give my mom a hug. And let my dad know that whenever he wants to hang around, How The West Was Won looks and sounds great on DVD. We’ll save him a place on the couch.

And Jim, every time I’m outside I’ll look for ‘em. But in my heart I really know that I’ll be looking for you.