Fair warning, this post is about death. I hope that you will stick with me though because it is a story that we don't often tell.


A better place, passed away, the other side, we call death so many things. None of them, however, can take away the sting. We are afraid of the Unknown, and death is in my thinking the Ultimate Unknown. We avoid discussing it when we have the ability to do so, we live our lives behaving that we and our loved ones will be the exception.


I drive by a funeral home each day. The signs asking drivers to slow down and be respectful are placed at intervals. I wonder how many people driving by even notice the words. Sometimes the parking lot is empty, often enough it is not. A sprinkling of mourners and sometimes overflowing. Who is it, I wonder. Thank you for your contribution to this world. I hope you did little harm.


We have just recently heard of a trio of climbers who were swept away by an avalanche. They did not carry avalanche beacons/transceivers, they knew that in the event of being buried that they had little chance of being saved. How hollow would the words "they died doing what they loved" echo for their loved ones?


There are those who live to flirt with the line facing their death. But have they made peace with the days they have lived?


The other day someone was killed crossing a street going home from work not far from where I live. He carried a backpack that was torn from his body, perhaps it held the remnants of his uneaten lunch or something he found that day to show his children. He probably wasn't expecting his life to end steps away from his front door.


We are frequently reminded at the swiftness of life by folks like Humble the Poet. Death is just one moment away he often says. We hear it, we see it around us, but does it change the way we live?


Don't cry because it's over.
Smile because it happened.
Dr. Seuss

Today, I write about someone who was not known by more than a handful of people in his lifetime. His circle was small. He died last week. He had never read a book and was plagued with poor health. All he ever wanted was a decent cup of coffee. I wrote about him previously as the man of few possessions.

He did not have the ability to be on social media, to voice his dissatisfaction about politics, complain about the weather, the price of gas, or when would dinner be ready.


He would not have understood the meaning of death.


He lived well past what would have been his expected life-span. For the last several years, far from family. Why did he survive so long, I wonder? It could not have been only because of the grueling medical interventions, science I feel can only do so much.


It is an answer I do not have.


But having been touched by his uncomplicated life, perhaps that was what he was to give to his small circle. Keep it simple.


Smile each day, you only need one extra t-shirt, drink your coffee hot. Ask for little.


In spite of what you didn't have, DJW, you gave a lot. Least of which your "I'm gonna marry you someday, Gail" always made me smile. Farewell, big man. You always held my heart.


Sometimes expecting little gives you a big life. Farewell DJW. (Tweet This)


Does death give you a reason or an excuse to live your life? (Tweet This)