39 Down. 41 To Go.

This entry comes on the heels of a conference call I had to dial into for work this morning at 4;00 AM. My new job is so completely fulfilling that I am excited about being part of the team and I was happy to participate at that ungodly hour. Chris would be so proud of my career. Maybe he is. I know that I am.

Before I go back to sleep for the next forty-five minutes to prepare for breakfast with my family, I wanted to attempt a verbalization of my thoughts and emotions from yesterday, now that I have somewhat processed them:

The closing episode to Six Feet Under was one of the most well-done television episodes of any show I have ever seen. The show was extremely thought-provoking and so creative and original.

I knew I had been deeply affected the moment the closing credits began to roll.

Life is strange. I don’t really understand it, anymore. I am so afraid of living to be eighty years old and having to wait another forty-one years before I see Chris again.

There are so many things for which I now have a connection and an understanding that I never had before. I now know what Eric Clapton was singing about in the lyrics to “Tears in Heaven. “ Will Chris remember me? Will he know who I am? Will I be attractive to him at eighty? He’ll still be thirty-four when I’m eighty. Will he still love me? Will he know me? Will he even be waiting?

When Ruth Fisher (Six Feet Under’s mom) grieved the loss of her son due to his death and the loss of her granddaughter due to her mother taking her back, I understood the depth of her pain. I remembered the day I returned home after running away to Hadley and Keene in the days following Chris’ death. I still have no idea how long I was gone. A couple of days? A week? I can’t remember. I know I was out of work for five weeks because I know the day he died and the date that I returned, but without physical numbers, I can’t remember much else about time. Ruth’s anguish reminded me of Bonnie and my heart broke for her.

I now wonder why we, as human beings, are here. Yesterday, I had a very clear-minded view about what life is. I was able to see it as a game. A fun game. As spirits, do we stay on the other side and talk about what life we’re going to live next and what we hope to accomplish there as though it’s a sporting event? Is Chris on the other side rooting me on and regenerating his battery for the next life? Can his exit from this life be compared to the third out in a baseball inning? He’s not in the game anymore but the rest of his teammates are and we’re still doing the best job we can to make something of our lives, never forgetting the impact he had on our team, always crediting him for the work he did and the mark he left and the inspiration he provided. When Johnny and Nomar left the Sox, the team didn’t quit playing baseball. They continue on until it’s their time to leave and when it is their time, they move onto another team or into another life stage, or they cross over, too. Yesterday, I saw death as nothing more than the next step, or a recharging station. I could feel it. We’re in the game. We’re out. We’re resting. We’re back in the game. Rookies come in. Veterans go out. And then it’s time for a new game.

Yesterday sparked an urge within me to see far away places, to take chances that will propel me into other stratospheres out of my comfort zone.

With forty-one years to go, I would be remiss to close my eyes to any possibilities.

-Shneed