It’s been a tough month for me having to deal with the death of a friend who I’ve known for 17 years.
She would have been 85 years old but died 2 days short of her birthday. Having been on hospice 4 times in the past 2 years, I had grown accustomed to the calls from the nurses giving me updates on how well she was doing. One morning, she woke up, drank her Ensure and fell back asleep.
By early afternoon she was having trouble breathing although she was resting comfortably. Deep breaths. Heart rate 150, then 160 then 180. She suffered from atrial fibrillation and Alzheimers. I was getting calls every 30 minutes from the caregiver and then the hospice nurse called. “We’d like to administer morphine.” I said no as I had been told she was resting comfortably by the caregiver she lived with. “She’s having difficulty breathing, her pulse is over 180 and her face is contorted — she’s uncomfortable and looks distressed.” “Okay,” I said softly, “but I want an update before you administer more than the lowest dose.” Fifteen minutes after the injection she was gone. That quickly.
Fortunately, I had already booked a trip to Seattle to check in on her and was scheduled to fly out two days later. My mind went blank as I wasn’t sure what her death would entail. I was her personal representative (also known as executor) and had never been one before. When I arrived at the airport, my son picked me up and we had breakfast together. Afterwards, I picked up the rental car and headed straight to the funeral home. A friend, who had offered to have her buried in the same cremation plot as his wife, met me there.
While waiting for my friend to arrive, I walked around the cemetery. Most of the grave markers I saw weren’t easily readable. I walked over to one where another friend of mine had been buried. I missed her so much and memories of our time together flooded my mind. Someone else had been here recently as a vase with almost dead roses was set in front of the marker. At least she’s being remembered, I said to no one.
Being here made me feel as if life was meaningless. I thought about Solomon’s words in the Bible …
“Meaningless! Meaningless!†    says the Teacher. “Utterly meaningless!     Everything is meaningless.â€
What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun?
These words would come back to haunt me for the duration of this trip and beyond.
I already had a paid contract for the services that the funeral home/cemetery would provide but because of a mix-up more money had to be paid. That’s okay I thought to myself — she can’t take it with her.
Once all the arrangements were confirmed, I drove to the adult family home where she had a room that needed to be cleaned out. The caregiver greeted me and hugged me but I felt nothing. Perhaps it was my state of mind but the hug seemed irrelevant to what had happened. I went to her room and everything, with the exception of her clothes, dolls and paperwork, was gone. No bed. No side table. One room contained everything that she possessed when she died.
“Meaningless …” Â As I went through her things I found myself overwhelmed for no particular reason. The caregiver had left me boxes so that I could pack things up. “The carpet cleaners will be here tomorrow evening,” she said. Oh. I guess that meant that I had a full 24 hours to go through all of her belongings.
There was no time to go through each item so I started separating the garbage from the pile of things that I would need to figure out what to do with. After 3 hours I couldn’t do it anymore and left with a couple of boxes that I dropped off at the local Goodwill.
My friend had left me all of her possessions. She had very little money — mainly dolls, clothes, family photos, paperwork. What is the point of my keeping all of this?
She was estranged from her family — one son had molested her, one son was on drugs and the daughter stole from her and had also been on drugs. Sitting here going through her things I remembered the conversation I had had with her daughter the day after her mother died. I called and left a message for her to please call me and when she did … well, I was unprepared for what happened.
She: What do you want?
Me: I called to let you know that your mother passed away yesterday.
She: Well, those things happen.
Me: Silence for a little bit. Then “Okay, well, I was wondering if you could let your brothers know.”
She: Yes, I can, no wait, I’m not going to do you any favors Norma.
Then the phone went dead. She had hung up on me.
Sitting here looking at the family photos I wondered how this family had gotten to be so estranged. (Later in the day, the brother did call me to tell me his sister had called him.)
The caregiver had told me that I could leave whatever clothes I didn’t want and she would use them for another resident. That was a good thing. I took a few things that I had given to her and packed them for myself.
She was a doll collector so I packed a couple of boxes of dolls — one for myself and one for her niece who was the only one in the family who stayed in touch with her on a regular basis.
Another box of pictures was packed to send to the son who called me. I decided to keep the really old pictures of her grandmother, grandfather and parents so that I could make a DVD for the family and send it during the holidays. The niece will appreciate it, the children — who knows?
After loading the car with boxes, I took it to the friends house where I was staying. I would go through these boxes the next day.
The thought kept popping up in my head — this is all meaningless.
We collect things that supposedly give us pleasure only to die and have someone else go through them and toss or give away what doesn’t give them pleasure. It’s a vicious cycle. A meaningless cycle in life.
I found myself feeling depressed.
I decided not to have a funeral service for my friend because frankly, I felt alone and didn’t know if I would be able to endure it. She had a few people who might come but not her children and I did not have the impetus to call people and gather them up for a service.
No. She was dead. She couldn’t care what I did. The only person any of this would matter to was me, so I chose what was best for me.
A friend took me kayaking at Entai Beach in Bellevue to “get you away from funeral and death thoughts” and it worked quite well. The day was lovely.
Beautiful lilies along a walkway really helped to lift my spirits.
Before leaving Seattle, I was able to get copies of the death certificate, contact the bank, contact the insurance companies and social security. Things flowed quite well actually.
Of course, I had shipped paperwork, dolls and family photos to myself so I still have to go through it all along with figuring out what to do with 15-20 porcelain dolls.
Life — it’s so precious. Possessions — meaningless.
The good influence we as humans have on each other seems to be getting more and more insignificant as morality appears to be decreasing. We go from day to day living our lives — eating, drinking, working, gardening, socializing. Then we become dust.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
It is only our actions that may continue the journey in life as they affect the lives of other people. Soon, too soon, the dead are forgotten. No one remembers their laughs, their cries, their sorrows …
“Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” James 4:14
What is left?
Well, for those who don’t believe in God, there is nothing. You simply live and then die.
For those of us who believe in God there is the hope of a resurrection at the second coming of Jesus. That, my friends, is what I hang onto. Not just a belief in an invisible God but a belief in a God who speaks to me everyday, counsels me every day and loves me, every day. The relationship is much stronger than any I’ve ever had.
The old adage “seek and you will find” is true. Fortunately it works both ways — both God and I seek each other.
Meaningless? Â Things — yes. Relationships – no. Remember this the next time you have to make a choice between a thing and a person.
