James Ishmael Ford<\/a><\/p>\nDeath and I are old friends. Okay, maybe not friends.<\/p>\n
Or, only in our contemporary sense that has become so attenuated that it has little practical meaning. We\u2019re more acquaintances, a sturdy term, for that much larger circle of people we know, but aren\u2019t friends in the increasingly intimate sense that word should be reserved for.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t recall when we first met. As I think of it I believe we first set eyes on each other the night my father hung himself. That\u2019s a different story than this one, so I\u2019ll only say it was an attempted suicide, not a completed one. But, I\u2019m pretty sure I saw Death at the doorway, watching.<\/p>\n
We first came to speaking terms when I was an on call chaplain at a hospital when a ten year old girl had a massive heart attack. My words were harsh. Death responded that we all have work to do. And Death\u2019s was to midwife people between the worlds. I muttered how that other world was also the end of the person, the singular person, in this case a ten year old girl. Who should have had so much more to experience, to encounter, to be. \u201cShould?\u201d Death laughed. Should didn\u2019t seem to be a part of Death\u2019s world.<\/p>\n
Our paths have continued to cross over the years and decades.<\/p>\n
This last time yesterday, at the airport. Jan & I were flying home to California from Boston. And, I\u2019d walked over to the Starbucks to get a latte. And there was Death. Just standing there, a cup in hand, looking a bit confused.<\/p>\n
I said to Death, \u201cI hope this has nothing to do with my flight.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no,\u201d Death said. Looking a bit chagrined. \u201cWhat?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, you see, I have this appointment with a man for this evening.\u201d \u201cYes? I replied.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re supposed to meet in Dallas. But, here he was, just arriving at Logan Airport.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe he\u2019s going to miss that appointment,\u201d I suggested.<\/p>\n
\u201cActually, he saw me as he deplaned. A funny word, deplaned, don\u2019t you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, deplaned is a funny word, I replied. But. So?\u201d<\/p>\n
Death sighed. \u201cHe immediately went down to the ticket counter and purchased a return ticket to Dallas. He\u2019s that guy over there, sitting down, nervously glancing at us.\u201d<\/p>\n
Death smiled slightly. \u201cThinks he\u2019s going to dodge our meeting\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
As I walked back to the waiting area, I found myself thinking about that. Actually a cascade of thoughts tumbled from my heart. Life. Death. And how they\u2019re really not two things. Of course, they\u2019re not one thing, either.<\/p>\n
More notes in a melody rather larger than human comprehension.<\/p>\n
So rage if we want. Another note or two. Or, bow to it. Another note.<\/p>\n
Or, pause to take a sip of my coffee, and watch my flight pull up to the gate.<\/p>\n
Another note\u2026<\/p>\n
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