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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4514 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention No Eulogies Charles Levenstein I. When my grandmother died, Uncle H., a lawyer and “progressive”, yelled at Harold over the coffin, “Your brother’s the only organizer! The only one doing anything useful in this family! You should be supporting him!” My oldest brother, a defense industry scientist, replied, “I think it’s pretty good that I even talk to him.” I still smile at this memory. II. A day off, phones not answered, duties set aside, perhaps sleep the morning away – or dress and stroll in the sun, slowly enough to exclude aerobic benefit. Today is for unwinding memory and letting grief prevail, no searching for answers in science or theology. This is the time for stories or dreams; tears, not accomplishments. My brother’s death was foretold in his birth, the contract was honored. III. And I am frightened, not philosophical. I and all my friends preferred to skip the fine print, to carry on as though we were essential, indispensable to this cruise through space, this Caribbean love boat. I protest that I could not read at all at birth, the contract is not enforceable in a court of law – but the code is inscribed in every gene! I want my money back! I want damages! Pain and suffering! IV. My brother’s first heart attack at 47 mobilized humans in his defense and every ten years or so they put him on the table, reamed out the arteries, a full tune-up after so-many miles, and sent him back to work. This last repair did not go so well. V. If I live as long as Harold, I have 15 or 16 years in which to finish up business, learn some French, and write a poem or two. Plenty of time. |
