Love Others and Get a Life

I've been thinking about death a lot lately -- not my own, necessarily, but in general. Maybe that's what people over fifty do; I remember my mother approaching complete neurosis if she didn't read the obituaries every morning. Nevertheless, death is all around us. Mom is in her final years of life. Twenty or two, who can tell? But it is inevitable. She sometimes breathes heavily just climbing the stairs; her heart is winding down like an old watch. And I am no longer "middle-aged." Even the Velvet Elvis on our deck (Relax, it's a type of plant -- nothing weird going on here.) seems to be struggling to stay alive. The first year, it grew, and bloomed, and grew some more. This year, its branches are dry and brittle; the minute leaves sprout, they droop and die off. Death. Our backyard is littered with fish, rabbits, hamsters, mice, and two 💝 dogs -- all former residents of our humble abode, permanently interred in "Pet Cemetery." Death is inevitable. Life, however, is a choice.

In recent years suicide awareness has increased, with walks and talks, and more money than ever being funneled into research and prevention. And while research can provide us with better counseling, there needs to be a little less focus on our Defense, and a little more focus on our Offense. You see, being suicidal is not like being "on the bubble" -- it could go either way. Being suicidal means choosing between what you perceive to be quiet and comfort, and what appears to be climbing Mount Everest at night, to bury your favorite dog, while you are suffering the flu. I'm not trying to be funny or minimize things, but suicide, to a person in the dark is the choice that ends physical, emotional, social, and intellectual pain, not endures it. To someone with suicidal thoughts, suicide is rejecting the impossible in favor of the inevitable. In my experience, people who are truly suicidal do not want people to "be there for them," and they certainly do not wish to talk; those interventions are a little like trying to shut the gate after the horse has left the barn. Which brings me to our Offense.

Our Western world is crazier now than it was when I was a child. I remember the imaginative journeys of mud puddles and cardboard boxes; store parking lots were empty on Sundays, and test patterns decorated the television late at night. The only information with which we were bombarded round the clock was on the radio; the only microwaves were the kind that flattened Batman. Most of us today -- myself included -- are uncomfortable with "the pause." We do this one thing so we can get to the next thing before that other thing. And then we'll relax. But, before we know it, the clock has been working against us and we collapse into bed, vowing tomorrow we're "just going to take it easy." Or, we relax with our phones in our hands, the remotes on our laps, and that political pundit who gets us all riled up blabbering from across the room. Constant sensory assault. Demanding. Invading our quiet places. With that kind of inescapable pressure, who has the time or fortitude to really care for anyone else? Many of us -- it's all we can do to keep our own thoughts and lives and families intact, much less notice someone else.

Love is the greatest weapon known to man. Love is what gives each of us life. Love is what gives each of us new life. Love conquered sin and death two thousand years ago. Love is still conquering death today. The remarkable gift of love is ours, not only to receive, but to pass on to others. We can take time to love and entice others to make good choices -- choices that promote good physical health, or lead to happy, satisfying relationships. We can put down our phone, reduce the demands on our time, so we can be a little sweeter to others. We can skip tonight's "AGT" or " Hannity" and share the gift of love that heals and encourages those around us. We can take a second to look someone in the eye; we might catch a glimpse of the struggles and needs of others before they have retreated to a place of darkness and deception. We can love always, that others might choose life.