Visiting us this week is a friend of over forty years. She is from Michigan and is recently retired. We met her and her husband in 1980 when we moved to Idaho. I had accepted a position at Washington State University in nearby Pullman, and Scott was pursuing a master's degree in the same lab. Scott and I were soon carpooling from Moscow. Shannon was pursuing a master's degree in anthropology at University of Idaho. Diana was in her third trimester pregnancy. We became friendly and even 'besties', exchanging as hosts for dinners and even some excursions out of Moscow. Elizabeth was born in December, so our socializing shrank somewhat after that. But we attended Scott and Shannon's informal outdoor wedding in June of 1981.
We moved to Durham in August, as the post-doctoral funding ended, but we stayed in touch with letters. As fate would have it, Scott and Shannon finished their studies and found work at Cornell, in Ithaca, New York. Shortly after that, I found a job in Princeton, New Jersey. We planned to reunite whenever possible, Princeton being only a four hour drive from Ithaca.
I have buried the lede here. Scott died suddenly and unexpectedly about two years ago. Our communication with them had been spotty in the intervening years, but we had kept in touch, even trying to visit them in Michigan in 2016. They had come to San Diego once for a visit, so we had retained contact. Due to the pandemic, we were unable to attend a Celebration of Life for Scott after his death. Shannon reached out and scheduled a video chat, and we invited her to come to see us. She has been here this week.
She is open about dealing with her grief. She says she wears her heart on her sleeve, and this is likely a reason we are friends. We do not like playing mind games, and she is completely without guile. But we also like to laugh at life and at ourselves, and she is much the same. She is to return to Michigan tomorrow. The grief topic has been explored, but it came to a point last night as Shannon asked if Diana and I have discussed 'the end.'
We have not done much beyond preparing wills and an estate plan. The suddenness of Scott's death should give us reason to discuss. But the question is raised. There are at least two questions here. How do we think about our own mortality and how do we think we would handle losing our mate? Shannon has more questions about existence after life.
Diana's cancer thirty years ago certainly made me consider life after her death. The contemplation was not deep because there never was a time when her cancer was presented as a death sentence. In addition, we had a lot on our plate with three children, work, etc. In the years since then, Diana has had anxiety every year when her mammogram appointment comes up. It isn't death that is feared, but illness.
Shannon has spoken of stoicism as the philosophy of indifference towards death. It seems she believes stoicism also rejects the idea of an afterlife. The indifference about death is the logic of being disinterested in events outside of our control. Accepting mortality is logical. I quote here from Modern Stoicism
Writing about the gift character of existence, Moses Hadas describes Seneca’s views on death and death-acceptance. "He suggest that once a fully Stoic view is adopted, a person, reckons not only his chattels and property and position but even his body and eyes and hand, all that a man cherishes in life, even his own personality, as temporary holdings, and he lives as if he were on loan to himself, and is ready to return the whole sum cheerfully on demand…When the order to return the deposits comes he will not quarrel with Fortune but will say, “I am thankful for what I have held and enjoyed.”
So, we confessed to Shannon we have not discussed the end. For myself, I'm not sure what to say. If Diana suddenly dies, what would I do? How would I feel? These may be an imponderable for either of us. We have often spoken about our atheism and the rejection of the idea of an afterlife. So, this dimension of the inevitable end is a non-starter. This leaves the discussion of the death of the other, the handling of the grief, and the aftermath.
I am content with my state of mind regarding death. When visiting friends, I often think about when I next might see them, acknowledging the potential that it is the last time I might see them. It might not be death that decides the issue but opportunity and circumstance. With many friends, this has been the case. We had a good friendship with two couples in New Jersey, and the wives of both have died. We have not seen them in many, many years. Diana's cousin Larry lost his wife Vickie some years ago, and nearer to home we have lost all but one parent and many aunts and uncles. I may be underestimating the grief, but I feel that I have an appreciative attitude about the present. Not too obsessive about wondering 'Is this the last time?', I have the sense of experiencing the friend or relative in the most positive way. I want to understand their motivations, their ambitions, their likes and dislikes. I want to find ways in which to share their spirit.
I think the topic does not belong by itself. It belongs in the general subject of how we conduct life on a daily basis. There are cultural imperatives that are thrust upon us. There are bucket lists, calls for living life to the fullest and without regrets. We are encouraged to seize the day and to make the most out of life. We are urged to be curious, to explore, and to express ourselves.
I have often thought I am less content than many. I look forward to learning, to practicing, to express, and to experience. I do not fully understand what compels me, and because it is a mystery (my inspirations), I am slightly fearful about losing that which stimulates me. I can still recall in my youth the strong sexual energy I had and the bewilderment about how to handle it. That energy has dissipated over time, and now is less important or intrusive. In a different way, the challenge of funding the family, in terms of both resources and direction, was a constant companion. But it was more of an intellectual one, demanding of attention by circumstance. The circumstance has passed, and we understand it to have passed. Managing the accumulated wealth is of some interest, but it is not that interesting to Diana. With our age and inevitable mortality, the relevance of the management seems to decrease.
The topic of mortality is not very interesting. I consider my pursuit of fitness, my creative pursuits of music, reading, and writing, keeping in touch with friends and relatives all a part of my personality and health. I do not expect to drop dead tomorrow. Mortality is a certainty but is generally out of mindful control. We may experience an illness, but we take action to return to health, a healthy state being preferable to an unhealthy state. Death may be the ultimate unhealthy state, but it is not on my mind during the healing process.
Returning to the topic of contentedness, I reject the idea of having no regrets. Of course, there are and will be decisions that I would change. A trivial example of the meandering manner of my mind is seen in assembling products. It seems I often assemble things incorrectly before seeing the error, retracing the steps, and reassembling in the correct way. Recently I bought a tool organizer rack for the pantry. I expected hardware for attaching the rack (drywall screw anchors and screws), but none were apparent. So, I improvised with what I had on hand. I mis-measured on the third hole and had to re-drill, but got the job done. When I went to throw away the package, I discovered the intended hardware was taped to the inside of the packaging. The point of this illustration is that I often leap before I look, or act before I think. It is true that I often learn from mistakes, and as a lover of learning (!), I must think every endeavor is a learning opportunity! Clearly, some missteps are best left unmade. Thus, regrets.
I am rarely satisfied that my effort is the best it could have been. It is in my nature to doubt my instincts while having strong instincts. This conflict creates a state of discontent. Also in my nature is a desire to do more than is possible. So, while I celebrate an accomplishment, I despair at failing to do another thing on the list. Discontent.
Bringing back the topic of mortality, perhaps it is the acceptance of inevitable death that makes me certain I will run out of time, energy, and opportunity to fulfill my ambitions. The sorrow in the loss of a loved one is the close of opportunity to grow the relationship, reflect on experience, or to help one another. It is the ultimate in discontent. Accepting mortality does not equate to being sanguine about it.
