Yesterday a friend died. People die every day is an easy sentence to write. But I don’t have a friend die every day. She was a very good person. She had many friends, so I am just one of the many. And while we all saw this coming, when the actual death happens, it still hits you. The dominant feeling among all her friends is sadness. It is not the sadness of a life squandered in some crazy way. It is not even sadness that she died a little too young, although it feels like she did.
She was not a saint. Because she was human, she was not perfect. While I appreciated the many things she did for me, there were times when I really did not want anything from her, even though she would have been happy to help. I know for a fact there are not too many people in my life who wanted the best for me than she did. And I was not alone. Somehow she cared about a big bunch of people. And her care was predictable and palpable.
Most days I don’t have to deal with death. Life chugs on in fairly normal ways. Since I spend the majority of my time with traditional age college students, there is not even much talk about death. Suffering is rather minimal. That is not to say college students don’t have problems---they do. I actually think it is harder to be a college student today than when I was in college. But college does not usually cause death.
The other thing about college students is their preoccupation with the future. In most ways this is exactly as it should be. They have so much of life in front of them. They are preparing for the future. With some luck, they have only lived about a fifth of their lives. My friend, on the other hand, does not have one more day. Her days are finished. Life as she knew it and lived it has concluded. When I consider her now, it is all memory.
Thinking about memory reminded me of words I read many years ago in one of Thomas Moore’s books, Original Self. I took the opportunity to pull that book down from the shelf. I was rewarded when I re-read sections of that book. I turned to a page I had marked from a previous reading. Moore says that “Memory holds us together as individuals and as communities.” I simply sat with that sentence for a while.
It made me think that memory is a kind of thread. I like that image better than glue. Those of us who knew and valued my friend are not glued together. But we are held together by the thread of our various interactions with my friend. I have common experiences with my friend and so many others. And I have my own personal memory when only she and I were in the room and the conversation was only between us.
I like the fact that Moore talks about memory as holding us together as individuals. In a sense “I am me” today based on the memories I have of all the days and experiences that lead up to this day. In effect, he says memory constitutes self. Memories shape the way I develop my own self-image. And memories did the same thing for my friend. She had a sense of self---herself---based on how she used memory to talk about the past. Moore makes this point, in fact, when he notes, “When we forget who we have been, we lose a full sense of who we are.”
And so my friend will continue to exist with us and among us as long as our memories hold her. This is true regardless of our personal views of life after death, heaven and whatever. Memories are real, even though she is now gone. And when we begin to forget, then she will cease to be in our lives. That too will be sad, but it is a different kind of sadness.
I like how Thomas Moore affirms there is in all of us an “original self.” This has been called soul, true self and other terms. Of course, I don’t think there is a body part which we label “original self.” But I do believe there is an aspect to each of us, a particular quality at our core, which makes each of us a unique self. That is the soul of my departed friend that I most remember and will cherish. I am helped when Moore assures me, “Memory is potent.” Memory is powerful.
Moore continues to unpack the potency of memory. “It does something to us. It makes us who we are. It gives us depth.” And then he adds what will be the last piece for me. He suggests that “Memory is a kind of poetry.” This leads me to think that our lives are a kind of poem. I know our word, poem, comes from the Greek verb, “to make.” We make poems, just like we make life. My poem is still being written. My friend has written her last line.
As I ponder her poem, I recognize that some threads of her poem I have written into my own poem of life. Those threads are memories of her impact on me, her challenge and her service to me. I know she lived in the Spirit and from the Spirit. We talked a great deal about religion and spirituality. She borrowed books from me to read, so she would have a better idea of what I was up to. She probably was more interested in me than I was in her. But that was probably true for a lot of people she knew.
Thank God for memory. Thank God for friendship. And thank God for poetry.
She was not a saint. Because she was human, she was not perfect. While I appreciated the many things she did for me, there were times when I really did not want anything from her, even though she would have been happy to help. I know for a fact there are not too many people in my life who wanted the best for me than she did. And I was not alone. Somehow she cared about a big bunch of people. And her care was predictable and palpable.
Most days I don’t have to deal with death. Life chugs on in fairly normal ways. Since I spend the majority of my time with traditional age college students, there is not even much talk about death. Suffering is rather minimal. That is not to say college students don’t have problems---they do. I actually think it is harder to be a college student today than when I was in college. But college does not usually cause death.
The other thing about college students is their preoccupation with the future. In most ways this is exactly as it should be. They have so much of life in front of them. They are preparing for the future. With some luck, they have only lived about a fifth of their lives. My friend, on the other hand, does not have one more day. Her days are finished. Life as she knew it and lived it has concluded. When I consider her now, it is all memory.
Thinking about memory reminded me of words I read many years ago in one of Thomas Moore’s books, Original Self. I took the opportunity to pull that book down from the shelf. I was rewarded when I re-read sections of that book. I turned to a page I had marked from a previous reading. Moore says that “Memory holds us together as individuals and as communities.” I simply sat with that sentence for a while.
It made me think that memory is a kind of thread. I like that image better than glue. Those of us who knew and valued my friend are not glued together. But we are held together by the thread of our various interactions with my friend. I have common experiences with my friend and so many others. And I have my own personal memory when only she and I were in the room and the conversation was only between us.
I like the fact that Moore talks about memory as holding us together as individuals. In a sense “I am me” today based on the memories I have of all the days and experiences that lead up to this day. In effect, he says memory constitutes self. Memories shape the way I develop my own self-image. And memories did the same thing for my friend. She had a sense of self---herself---based on how she used memory to talk about the past. Moore makes this point, in fact, when he notes, “When we forget who we have been, we lose a full sense of who we are.”
And so my friend will continue to exist with us and among us as long as our memories hold her. This is true regardless of our personal views of life after death, heaven and whatever. Memories are real, even though she is now gone. And when we begin to forget, then she will cease to be in our lives. That too will be sad, but it is a different kind of sadness.
I like how Thomas Moore affirms there is in all of us an “original self.” This has been called soul, true self and other terms. Of course, I don’t think there is a body part which we label “original self.” But I do believe there is an aspect to each of us, a particular quality at our core, which makes each of us a unique self. That is the soul of my departed friend that I most remember and will cherish. I am helped when Moore assures me, “Memory is potent.” Memory is powerful.
Moore continues to unpack the potency of memory. “It does something to us. It makes us who we are. It gives us depth.” And then he adds what will be the last piece for me. He suggests that “Memory is a kind of poetry.” This leads me to think that our lives are a kind of poem. I know our word, poem, comes from the Greek verb, “to make.” We make poems, just like we make life. My poem is still being written. My friend has written her last line.
As I ponder her poem, I recognize that some threads of her poem I have written into my own poem of life. Those threads are memories of her impact on me, her challenge and her service to me. I know she lived in the Spirit and from the Spirit. We talked a great deal about religion and spirituality. She borrowed books from me to read, so she would have a better idea of what I was up to. She probably was more interested in me than I was in her. But that was probably true for a lot of people she knew.
Thank God for memory. Thank God for friendship. And thank God for poetry.
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