All Souls Day

The best of times or the worst of times, and maybe it's the time of year or maybe it's the time of man, but sometimes it's just a challenge to make sense of anytime at all. But the alternative, to not make sense of things, to just let them go, doesn't seem to work so well either, or I simply haven't learned how. As a middle path, I could just unpack some of the raw material I've been trying for two weeks to chronicle, and see if it makes sense.

I got some sad news via e-mail on a Tuesday that my friend Mike Henry had died late the night before. He had been very sick for several months, in and out of the hospital, and the prognosis had not been very hopeful. I saw him a few times as he underwent various treatments, and his physical condition appeared to deteriorate, but still it's different when the heart finally stops beating. I forwarded the information to a few mutual friends at work and more or less went about my business.

That night I spoke with Mike's friend Marcia, who said people from the Buddhist center had been coming over to their house all day to pray. Mike had been through an aggressive series of chemo treatments, and he came home very tired on Monday. Marcia said he took a nap, and when he woke up he immediately wrote a poem. His spirits were good, but his energy came and went. Later that night he became very sleepy again, took another nap and did not wake up. Visiting hours would be Thursday evening at a funeral home here in Methodistville, and a memorial service would follow.

Through force of will and following the directions, I managed to secure the new storm door that had been partially installed the week before. Now even though it doesn't hang straight or seal tightly, at least it opens and closes. Indian Summer made it unseasonably warm for late October, and I shot some baskets in the parking lot to get my ya-ya's out after work. The nice lady at the eye doctor replaced a missing screw in my glasses, so now the lens doesn't pop out.

My last class of the quarter met at the rec center on Wednesday, and I made some fliers advertising the new schedule for next quarter. Thursday morning's interdepartmental meeting was actually quite good. I finished editing the testing product I'd been working on for three weeks, and it felt good to clear that particular deck. I ran out of daylight, so there was no time to shoot hoops.

The scene at the funeral home was a bittersweet convergence of friends and family from all times and places in a person's interconnected life. Compared to most of those people, I knew Mike only fleetingly, but I also had some connection with many of them. Someone from the art department, someone from the design department, someone from production, and someone from social studies; a couple from his t'ai chi group, a few from his Buddhist circle, and mutual friends of mutual friends with not many degrees of separation.

Mike's cousin (from Iowa?) sang a salutation to the six directions in the Lakota language. His Carmelite brother (from Reynoldsberg) reminisced about their years at St. Patrick's church. Marcia and another teacher from the Taoist Tai Chi Society talked about Mike's intense desire to practice, his eagerness to teach, his enthusiasm in classes and workshops. He did like to push the envelope. He had gotten very excited about going to Wolf Park in Indiana just a few days ago to see the wolves in their own habitat.

Lama Kathy talked about Mike's acerbic wit and his journey to Buddhism, how he argued with her about John of the Cross while studying the Diamond Sutra, and how a couple of weeks ago, he was singing the blues, and he wrote a song that included the word Avalokitesvara, and it rhymed. There were pictures of him and pictures by him on display. Evidence was everywhere of his boundless creativity and twisted humor. The Buddhists stayed in the chapel afterward to chant.

The next day, Friday, was Halloween, and I had the day off, so I got a little work done in the yard, cutting firewood and putting borders around beds. Saturday was All Saints Day, or All Souls Day in some traditions, and the prolonged Indian Summer weather was glorious. I took advantage of the warmth to get up on the roof, sweep off leaves and pinestraw, clean out gutters, and tape over a crack next to a leaky skylight. That night a small group of Pagans celebrated Samhain at the big UU church with stories, songs, and drumming in honor of those who have died.

Sunday I had volunteered to help at the Old North Church in the morning, but I couldn't handle the noisy social gathering afterward, so I fled and came home. The perfect weather gave me time to transplant perennials, split and stack wood, and enjoy a fire with Gven in the pit on the patio. El Dia de los Muertos was also the first day after daylight saving time, so it seemed like a good time for a fire.

Monday wasn't an official holiday that I'm aware of, but it was the first Monday of the month, so the percussion store across from Graceland had its monthly drum circle, and the place was cooking. Just a few players, but they were all good, and the rhythms ebbed and flowed, layered and bounced with energy and respect.

Tuesday was election day, so I voted early and got to work just in time for a townhall meeting with the company president, who had plenty so say about the state of the economy and the company, not dire just realistic. A friend had a little gathering to watch election returns at his house, and spirits ran high as we saw more and more states turn blue. Later at home, Gven and I watched rather humble concession and victory speeches and wondered about the transition.

How could so much happen in just over a week? It seems like every day was momentous in some way yet ordinary in others. I just have a hard time letting go of it without remarking how it went.