He's gone

First I want to thank all of you who have been following along, even if you don't leave comments. I want to thank those who do comment. It is helpful just to get reactions. I am sorry I don't always react to your postings, although I find them fascinating. I find I would rather read many of your on-going sagas and thoughts than most novels. You are all living lives and trying to make sense out of them, and your insights are as valid as anyone, you just don't all have good agents.
OR
more importantly, it isn't the goal to be a celebrity, or to cash-in on every idea. It is most important to try and say what you mean, to figure it out and get life to make some sense. I revel in all of your efforts.

But, it ends.

Today I saw a couple who have been married less than two years. They are an older couple and this is his first marriage, begun in his late forties. So, he isn't accustomed to having to include anyone else in his decision making process.

But before they could get the marriage functioning well his father started to slip. So the newly married couple moved in with him. That was the right thing to do for him, and morally, and helpfully, but it was tough on the new marriage.

Now, sixteen months later, he died, at 87. It is sad, but understandable.

They can't openly admit that they are relieved, and that now they can really get the marriage started. So what we talked about today was the old man, and all his stuff.

The man was a good guy, but he had lived through the time when money and stuff was scarce. He had also been a soldier, so he knew how the world could be scary and mean. He had never said much, but he did many good things for friends and family.

But now they were left with his stuff. Lots of stuff. Furniture he made, that was good, but not really that good. Bags of rubber-bands. Draws full of empty margarine tubs. Six broken cameras. Twenty undershirts, still in packages, made by a company that has been out of business for fifteen years. Forty pairs of socks.

Stuff.

There was a time when stuff was handed down and treasured. Stuff now is made to be replaced. It's Ikea instead of mahogany. Kids want to buy their own stuff, even if they call it retro, or mid-century modern.

Lives, like the ones you all write about, and the one I am living, are obviously very ephemeral. The people we remember in the history books are the ones who did more than others to fucked-up the world.

That's why I try to do what I try to do. I don't want people, including myself, to waste too much of the short time of their existence suffering. Some suffering is unavoidable.

If you can though, avoid it. Have fun.