Death burst in through the door breathing hard. Sorry, he said. I’m in a rush. Everything’s happening fast fast fast. Wait. Are you the little girl? Shit. I wasn’t supposed to run into you yet. Things got crazy, wires got crossed.
So ok, here I am but don’t worry I didn’t come for you I came for your father oh shit that’s rough let me try again. Honey, sweetheart, you daddy’s going to die tonight. I know, I know, he’s really young and so are you and so is your mom. Honestly, I just got the message an hour ago. I don’t know why no one’s prepared, right? Well, no one’s ever prepared. Gotta go. Sorry sorry sorry but hey your mom she’ll be around for a long time your brother not so long. Shit I just did it again. Sorry honey, gotta run but listen. I know this sounds crazy but one day you’ll see me as a friend.
He shut the door and left me in a freezing cold room, so cold my fingers nearly snapped like icicles so cold my lungs constricted. Anything bothering you? The Chinese acupuncturist will ask me decades later feeling my lung pulse. No, I say coolly. Why?
Death left footprints in the snow but they were gone by morning. So was the life I had been living. He showed up when my aunt died, breezed in, out of breath, yep it’s time for her to die. It’s really going to fuck up her kids so keep in touch with them, ok? I did, sort of, but we were each on our own ice floe, frozen by grief, only able to offer a stiff military wave when we passed each other on Jewish holidays, Thanksgiving, a wedding or a funeral.
Death came tumbling in to my college dorm. Don’t mind me. I just came from Viet Nam and holy shit what a mess even for me to clean up.
Death took lovers who were older than me. Hey, he said as he passed by the screen door, it’s me toots. How’s it going? Don’t worry. They were tired, too filled with shame and regret but I’ll tell you what. I’ll send them to you in dreams for a little visit. Deal? Stop crying, ok honey?
Death stood at the end of my mother’s bed. We watched her struggle to breathe, dying slower than she had anticipated as she took her own life. Don’t come near me, I said when he tried to put his arm around me. This is grotesque. Hey babe, he said softly. It’s what she wanted. Am I right or am I right?
I plunged into ten years of hospice work, desperate to see another face of death. Good girl, he said. I really can be sweet. I really can be gentle.
And he was. He brought the already departed into the rooms of the dying to escort them over the threshold, arms outstretched, calling out Mama with such relief and joy. He dazzled with light only the dying could see, the beacon that guided them onto the path. Truly, Death was radiant, winking at me when he left.
I am older now, and have met Death many more times, but still, I want to protest. No. Too soon. Not my best friend. Not my cousins who hold so many of my childhood memories. Not the aunties and uncles who teased me all during the firefly years of my youth.
Each time Death comes, there is a little more room inside for the wind to blow through me like a hollowed out bamboo reed,
Hey toots. Death shows up on my doorstep. Is today a good day to die? Have you wasted it in anger? In regret or blame? Has the wonder of all you have been given been lost on you? Have you forgotten how swiftly it all can end?
Is this it? I ask, trembling. Is this my last day?
Not today, kid, he reassures me. But maybe tomorrow. Mybe in five years. Maybe it’s always your last day. Don’t waste it.
Listen, sugar, he whispers on his way out the door. Here’s the secret of secrets. The only force stronger than me is love. Love never dies. So love as hard as you can for as long as you can. He lights a cigar and vanishes, trailing songs in E minor and the roar of the sea.
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Read more stories like this in my book The Ripening: Essays on Love, Loss, Marriage and Aging available from Amazon.
Nancy London 