Destiny?

Deb: I’ve been thinking about death lately and, in doing so, have been thinking about life. Ultimately when you lose someone in an untimely fashion, it raises the question of the randomness of the universe and, as such, the randomness of our lives. By that, I don’t mean to say that our lives themselves are random. Most of us have rich lives filled with purpose and plans, dreams and determination to succeed.

It’s just that after our friend Paul died I couldn’t help but think about fate. Destiny.  Was his death pre-ordained? Was that the day he was supposed to leave this life? Or was his death random? Was it literally an accident and all that “accident” implies? I couldn’t help delving into this concept in my mind and in conversation with my husband this week.

Paul had asked us if we would come up to his town, which is two hours away from our home to do an improv show with him. We had done the show before and had a wonderful time. He called it ImPros Versus Joes and it lovingly pitted professional improvisers against willing and talented student improvisers. The thing is, he asked us to come up the week before Christmas. Much to our regret now, we did not go. My Mum had been in the hospital for eight weeks, only getting out a few weeks before Christmas. That left us with very little time to get Christmas together and we simply had to beg off, saying we would come through the winter or in the spring. Of course that is now an opportunity lost forever and there is nothing we can do to change that. That isn’t the heart of this post, but I was just using it as an illustration for my ponderings around this concept. Colin and I got into an interesting discussion about this the other day and I will tell you before I go any farther that neither of us settled on an answer. Not that there is an answer for this. But neither of us settled on our answer, our definitive thoughts. As such, I want to include you in the discussion. 

I got to thinking, What if we had gone and done the show that day? What if, in doing so, we had a fun laugh-filled dinner with Paul and Linda, which led to writing a show for the four us, which led to the four of us working over the Victoria Day weekend when Paul died, far away from the scene of his accident. So. Would he have died anyway? Would something else have happened because it had to, because it needed to, because it was his time?

I don’t mean to indicate that our presence might have saved his life. What I am trying to put forth is the concept of the universe shifting. Our going that day would have shifted it. A little or a lot, but it would have shifted it. Or in the real case scenario that day, Paul’s turning the car around at the end of his driveway to go back for the cell phone he forgot would have shifted it. It would have shifted it by seconds or minutes, but would it have changed the outcome?

Is death random? Is our life pre-ordained? Is it all mapped out for us? Or do accidents happen? People talk about going toward the light and then turning back, only to wake up after surgery to find that their heart stopped for x number of minutes. The prevailing thought is “it was not their time.” Do you believe that? I had a full day of chores today and in the middle of them ran into my friend Ed whom I adore. I called his name out on the busy street three times. He heard me on the third shout and we stopped and chatted for a half hour. The conversation quickly turned to our friend Paul and this very subject of the randomness (or not) of the universe. Ed said to me, “That is so odd that you called and called to me because when I was a block away from you I thought I heard a man calling me and I looked around and no one was there.” Then he said, “I am so glad you kept calling me because I thought it was just my imagination again.” So I asked him, “Do you think that our personal universe just shifted, yours and mine?” We both agreed that it probably had. But to what degree? I wondered as I drove home about just how much it had shifted. Was it simply two friends who were destined to meet up? Would something awful/wonderful/silly/ exciting have happened to one of us if we had not met each other and lingered over a chat? Did one of us save the other from being hit by a car or from falling glass from a building? Or were we both invincible no matter what transpired as it was just not our day to die?

Death brings thoughts of death. So I pose this question to you? Would you like to know when you are going to die? Or would you rather it be random? Would you rather the kind of randomness the universe seems to scream when you lose someone suddenly? For my part, I choose random. Do I seize the day every day as I would if I knew exactly when I was going to die? No, not all of it. But I try to, and the ignorance around my demise is part of what makes life bliss for me.

Barbara: Well, then is it fate/destiny that you wrote this post at a moment when I have joined dearest friends at a wake and funeral of a beloved who died—from an illness—but suddenly and unexpectedly? And that you started this post before you knew I’d be going to this funeral? And that I have been pondering this very thing? Why have I been pondering it today? Because this beloved died at what can only be described as a “serendipitous” time for her beloved family. Not that there is anything “good” or “fine” about this death—it is sad, difficult, shocking and will in many ways be life-shifting for some of the family in terms of the future. But there are many amazing things about the timing—for instance, her brother and sister, both of whom live hours away, “happened” to be in town; and a niece is off to Africa in a week for an opportunity of a lifetime and will be gone for two years—at least this young woman had a chance to say goodbye. And these are just two of many strangely synchronistic alignments. How could I not ask the question you are asking? Like you, I don’t have an answer.

I do mostly feel like we have a predestined time-line. It doesn’t feel logical to believe that, but I do. Usually. And if I believe that, then to answer your next question: would I want to know my end-time? Absolutely not!!! I am definitive about that.

I want to thank you, Deb, for bringing up this subject. It is a tricky one, but it’s one I think most of us contemplate in our own ways at some point.

Miracles, Meteors and Magdalene

Deb: This weekend our dear friend Cheryl––whom you met this year when we did a three-way with her––headed with her family to the Stratford Festival in Ontario to see the wonderful Canadian, Broadway-bound production of Jesus Christ Superstar. As it happens, this is the last weekend of the show in Stratford and I, being an official card-carrying member of the “I’m obsessed with all things Jesus Christ Superstar” wanted to see the show before it left Canada. This is the first time in fifteen years my husband and I have not been able to get to Stratford to see shows, missing many wonderful productions featuring, among others, our dear and talented friends.

So I set out to get a single ticket––as Colin was away in the Boston area doing a show (which some of you attended), but I was lucky enough to get, through a lovely friend in the production office, two cancelled tickets. So I asked Barb to come with me. She happily agreed to a wonderful day, which was supposed to consist of a gorgeous two-hour drive, lovely lunch, show, and a peaceful drive home. Or so we thought.

Cut to: Our precious friend and sister Cheryl phoning me last night from Stratford. She was breathless and clearly in pain. She, her husband, and their daughter had been in a horrific car accident, but mercifully, they were alive and functioning.

They were stopped at a traffic light and some guy—who claimed the sun was in his eyes—came barreling into them, knocking them into another car and into the intersection and into yet another car. Their car was totally destroyed, but they came away relatively unscathed. The air bags beat them to a pulp, but ultimately saved their lives. Their daughter was belted and sleeping in the back seat. She woke up, crisis over, to the reek of the air bag gas. Cheryl and Bill were taken to the hospital where they were released in considerable pain, but alive and well ... and as a result ... in the mood for celebration.

The second and tinier miracle was that Barb and I were scheduled to go up the next day to see the final show of Jesus Christ Superstar. Cheryl and Bill of course had no way home and were elated that we were, in a last minute twist of fate, coming right to them! We said that we would chuck the show and simply come up to gather them and their belongings and take them home. Cheryl wouldn’t hear of it. “YOU MUST SEE THIS SHOW!” she said between halting breaths. She insisted that they would simply sleep and chill and gather their resources while we attended the show, which they did.

So we saw the show. And it was a stupendous production. I feel I am authorized to say that given the number of JCSuperstars I have seen on stage and in film. I urge you to see this show on Broadway if you can.

Spent from the production and spent from the wild and challenging events of the last few weeks, we picked them up, took them to the wreck yard, emptied the contents of their shattered car into Barb’s, and said our thanks and farewell to this little gem “Breezy” who had kept them safe these 12 years and held its own right to the end, honouring its owners’ years of appreciation.

We all celebrated the miracle of their survival. It hit me again like a ton of bricks when I saw the car in the scrapyard, broken and finished. We swarmed its broken frame, each of us in our own way giving thanks for their safe escape.

When Barb and I set out to get them, all shaky and full of emotion, we imagined surrounding our car in blue light against impact and then imaged a white light around that one. We always do this when either of us feels any weird or scary energy on the road. Barb said that she had read that there was another huge meteor headed towards earth this week and, although it was not scheduled to hit our green home, it was coming close enough to shake things up, to make unusual and bizarre things happen. True to its word in our corner of the world, it shook our dearest friends to the very foundation of their being and brought my Mom some potentially bad news, all in this one day.

But the real miracle was everyone’s reaction to these events. My Mom rolled with this punch in her can-do way, and even joked about it. Cheryl and her family simply looked at their car, brimming with emotion, but overflowing with thanks and gratitude. No anger. No regret. Just a breath of life sucked into their bruised lungs that told them, despite the searing pain, that they were alive.

Mary Magdalene offered our soundtrack. “Try not to get worried, try not to hang onto problems that upset you, don’t you know, everything’s alright now, everything’s fine, and I want you to sleep well tonight. Let the world turn without you tonight. Close your eyes, close your eyes and forget all about us tonight.”

Barbara: Deb has captured this extraordinary day in all its amazing detail: miracles, meteors and Magdalene, indeed. The last 24 hours have been astounding in their beautiful mayhem. Completely mind-boggling drama, and completely soul-warming communal love. We felt so lucky and calmed to be together and safe on the one hand, and so lucky and stimulated to be able to celebrate creative excellence on the other.

I don’t wish days like these on any of you, but I do wish—given that days like these happen on, well, a daily basis—that you are surrounded by just such love and light. And, more importantly, that you see it. xo

The Happy Accident

Barbara: Okay, the title is a bit of a writer’s conceit—it wasn’t a “happy” accident per se, but it did remind me of some our favourite Middle Ages-ian themes, the ones which bring us around to, yes, savouring happiness despite our foibles. Foibles like how we hate HATE to feel helpless, and how we sometimes need to be reminded that accepting help can be a great gift we give unto others.

So my dad is a hale and hearty guy, the kind whose actions and energy defy his age. Then late last week, he breaks his foot. It was, in his words, a stupid accident. He was mowing the lawn down an uneven slope and his foot twisted into a cranny. He was in pain, but mostly he just knew. After “rice”-ing (rest, ice, compress, and elevate), he knew an emergency room visit was in order. When the doctor told him he had suffered a hairline fracture, he wasn’t surprised. Pissed, frustrated, disappointed, yes. Shocked, no. But here’s the extra rub: his lovely wife, my step-mother, was in a remote far-away village on a holiday with her daughter. My dad was alone, far from his three daughters, with no immediate source of help. As luck would have it, two of his daughters (myself included) were already scheduled to arrive at his place a mere two days later. But two days later … a timeline that couldn’t be shifted. And Dad would be alone.

So my dad convinces the doctor to postpone putting the cast on until we arrive so he can take care of his urgent needs with some independence, like driving home and WATERING THE PLANTS (caps are meant to indicate daughterly sarcasm). It took at least 6 separate phone conversations to finally convince him that he could NOT drive the one hour each way to pick up my sister and her kids from the train station. It took another several convos to convince him that his very dear friend would go out of his way to do the pick-up. Not only did my father want to carry on as if nothing had happened (let me remind you that if a fracture in the foot doesn’t heal properly, then he might have issues the rest of his life), the very thought of imposing on others was anathema. But even he saw the logic of accepting the helping hands being offered all around him.

On Monday, we made sure he was properly casted up and off his foot and forbidden from any but the most mundane SEATED tasks. He was forced to allow his daughters, son-in-law, and grandchildren to wait on him hand and foot (ar, ar). And he was witness to everyone’s absolute joy in being able to pay back this most generous but independent of people.

The unhappy side of the story? Okay, he can’t walk on his foot for 6 weeks at least, is being delivered a new highly-anticipated car tomorrow and can’t drive at all, has a household that requires much care-taking, and was looking forward to frolicking in the pool with his grandkids (we did make sure his cast was water-proof, but it might be a sinking stone, right?). And thank GOD my step-mom was away—she is an unbelievably competent maven and would have been all over taking care of Dad to perfection, but certainly at the risk of her own health. Imagine this tiny 5’4” woman trying to push and pull my not-so-tiny 6’2” father on his wheelchair while casts dried and crutches were on order.

But it has been a watershed moment for my father: he learned the hard way that he is not immune to bodily malfunctions (to quote him, that he “is not a god after all” ;) ), he learned that sometimes taking is also giving, and he learned to sit back and accept heartfelt service. Frankly, it was a watershed moment for all of us. Nothing like watching your, yes, god-like father come down to earth for a brief sojourn to be reminded of these important life lessons.

As I said, a happy accident.

Deb: Just Beautiful, Barb; this moved me so much. I know all too well what it’s like to see your parents struggle with their independence. I am so glad that this was simply an accident and not an immobility life sentence. It kills me every day to watch Dad struggle more and more to be in charge of his life and to get out and live life. I watched Mum struggle for years after her stroke with it and then watched her slowly make her peace. Your Dad fought for his independence and that is fantastic.  And it seems your Dad is enjoying his stroll among the mortals. This moment will stay with him as he ages, in a very good way I think.