What a vivid description of a realization of death. I know it's easier said than done, but I often think about how might we befriend death. Since my father's death, and now my mother's advancing age and declining health, I'm thinking about death and how to relate to her. (For some reason for me death is female.)
The second person I ever saw dead was my grandmother. I was 20 and my dad had visited her in her last days and played his guitar and sang for her. I couldn't seem to be able to get over my fear of seeing a person I loved die, so I avoided visiting her. I wished I could be brave like my dad. The next person I saw die, ended up dying in my arms. My son was born without kidneys and back in 2003, there was no treatment. The process wasn't as scary as I thought. He just fell asleep in my arms. What made it bearable is that I was surrounded by my church friends who prayed for us. Since then, I've followed my dad's example and visited my mom's mother when she was dying of lung cancer. I played my ukulele and sang Christmas songs because I knew she wouldn't make it to her favorite time of year. I did the same for my father-in-law when he developed a rare autoimmune disorder that causes full body paralysis. Music soothes the soul. Not being afraid of death, but learning how to manage the process of dying makes all the difference.
I have a story about one of my earliest memories of death. I may elaborate on it as a blog post but it precedes the JFK assassination by a couple years.
There was a housefire next door to my friend Louis and Joey Rubertino who lived three doors down and across the street in MapleHts (new Cleveland suburb.) The man who lived there died in the fire. I was somewhere around 8 or 9 years old and was curious because the window was missing and it was all black inside. I could not understand how a man couldn't escape by simply climbing out a first floor window. I later learned he fell asleep smoking in bed... but this was a big mystery for a few days and made me afraid of house fires for years.
AS FOR DEATH... I wrote a blog post called Baby Boomer Death Clock in 2020 and within a short time it was on my Top Ten of most read blog posts (out of 6000). Now it is #2... which shows that this is a topic that people think about.
Hey Kent! It's been a long time since we rode together on Vashon Island (and Seattle, etc.)! I still cherish our group hug of the Bicycle Tree)!
I got invited to subscribe to your blog and I'm really pleased with it. It's very ... Kent Peterson-y ... (It was my first clue that you had left Eugene, where you were when we last had contact, when I was working at the NPR station in Ashland, Oregon. Superior, Wis-frickin'-consin? WTF?).
I especially like the way you type the blog out on a variety of antique, obsolete typewriters ... When I began my journalism career in 1975 by writing for a new alt-weekly newspaper in Denver called Westword, I wrote my copy an old Underwood manual I found in a thrift store. It had chrome accents and looked the perfect part of the archaic but trusty machine that was way too old for anyone reasonable to use professionally. I reveled in its eccentricity ... I finally succumbed to the evil of word processors. And while I understand and (sort of) agree with all the critiques of digital writing, I have to say I can't imagine having had a career in journalism if we'd still been using typewriters. (Don't even get me started, as a public radio journalist for most of those years, on the advantages of digital audio editing over physically cutting magnetic tape. Yes, I did, it and no, I can't imagine doing it for decades ...).
Interesting pathway you describe for arriving at the inevitability of death. I experienced all those same grim generational milestone:JFK, RFK, Malcolm X, MLK (my dad -- a high school teacher at the time, describes the morning announcements over the intercom at his school, noting the shooting murder of Martin Luther King, followed by an announcement of the weekly meeting of the high school's gun club ...).
Anyway, I'm glad to connect with you again. I'm glad you seem to be happy and doing good work in your new, midwestern life. And I'm glad to be the daily recipient of your Kent Petersonisms.
Liam, it is great to hear from you. Yes, I am back in the midwest, the land of Lutherans, lutafisk and the last affordable housing in America. If you ever get out this way, we'll have to go for a bike ride & coffee and some good old conversation.
No, I retired from the NPR station at the end of 2021 and am now dividing my time between France and the San Juan Islands in Washington State. I'm currently building a small cabin on Orcas Island, where, you may recall, I lived for many years before following work to Seattle and Ashland.
The first funeral I ever attended was a school friend’s who died from cancer in the 2nd grade. Our class was given the day off and so we were out of uniform and on school grounds. It was open casket. Some of us kids were cutting up rough at the wake, so we were separated and taken home. I hugged that kids mom every time I saw her, for the rest of her life.
Btw, I am thoroughly obsessed with that typeface. I think if I found a san serif manual typewriter that worked, I could one day die happy.
My own father died in his sleep when I was 8. By the time I was 16, we also buried three grandparents, an older stepbrother, a stepfather, a best friend of mine from Boy Scouts, and the best friend of my then 8 year old brother. So, yes, early on we got a lesson on how this all comes out. I sometimes think that my deep interest in military history, war, and warfare, was a product of an attempt to examine death in closer detail in a socially acceptable way.
As a. young child, I thought I could outsmart. God and live forever. I believed I just had to find the perfect place to hide from him! After being surrounded by the deaths of grandparents, great aunts and uncles, as well as my nine-day old brother, I realized early on that death was very much a part of living. .My dad died at the. young age of 75, and twenty-three. years later. my mother passed away at the age of 94. I was able to be with both of them, holding each of their hands as they took their last breath. I no longer fear death, but realize it's part of our journey into eternity. Thanks. for sharing!
Wow! 8yrs is such a young age to understand death. At least to understand it the best way possible. Death is so unknown, really other than the fact that the body is gone, how can death be completely understood? It's easiest to think of the simple fact that the body doesn't last forever though. To ME, death makes life more meaningful and gives more of a reason to live it while it's possible to. :) Anyway, wonderful post Kent. :)
Wow, heavy amd profound. FYI, your post just became the catalyst for a great conversation with my teens.
It's never my death I couldn't reconcile. It's those I loved whose passing tore the unhealable holes in my heart
What a vivid description of a realization of death. I know it's easier said than done, but I often think about how might we befriend death. Since my father's death, and now my mother's advancing age and declining health, I'm thinking about death and how to relate to her. (For some reason for me death is female.)
The second person I ever saw dead was my grandmother. I was 20 and my dad had visited her in her last days and played his guitar and sang for her. I couldn't seem to be able to get over my fear of seeing a person I loved die, so I avoided visiting her. I wished I could be brave like my dad. The next person I saw die, ended up dying in my arms. My son was born without kidneys and back in 2003, there was no treatment. The process wasn't as scary as I thought. He just fell asleep in my arms. What made it bearable is that I was surrounded by my church friends who prayed for us. Since then, I've followed my dad's example and visited my mom's mother when she was dying of lung cancer. I played my ukulele and sang Christmas songs because I knew she wouldn't make it to her favorite time of year. I did the same for my father-in-law when he developed a rare autoimmune disorder that causes full body paralysis. Music soothes the soul. Not being afraid of death, but learning how to manage the process of dying makes all the difference.
So sweet and tender. I want to give your eight year old self a hug.
Yes. Me too!
I have a story about one of my earliest memories of death. I may elaborate on it as a blog post but it precedes the JFK assassination by a couple years.
There was a housefire next door to my friend Louis and Joey Rubertino who lived three doors down and across the street in MapleHts (new Cleveland suburb.) The man who lived there died in the fire. I was somewhere around 8 or 9 years old and was curious because the window was missing and it was all black inside. I could not understand how a man couldn't escape by simply climbing out a first floor window. I later learned he fell asleep smoking in bed... but this was a big mystery for a few days and made me afraid of house fires for years.
AS FOR DEATH... I wrote a blog post called Baby Boomer Death Clock in 2020 and within a short time it was on my Top Ten of most read blog posts (out of 6000). Now it is #2... which shows that this is a topic that people think about.
https://pioneerproductions.blogspot.com/2020/11/baby-boomer-death-clock.html
---- Thanks for the memory stimulation.
Excellent post, Kent, and something we can all identify with. It doesn't matter at what age we come to the realization, it still hits hard. Well done!
CJ
Plus all that exercise from biking makes your heart stronger.
Hey Kent! It's been a long time since we rode together on Vashon Island (and Seattle, etc.)! I still cherish our group hug of the Bicycle Tree)!
I got invited to subscribe to your blog and I'm really pleased with it. It's very ... Kent Peterson-y ... (It was my first clue that you had left Eugene, where you were when we last had contact, when I was working at the NPR station in Ashland, Oregon. Superior, Wis-frickin'-consin? WTF?).
I especially like the way you type the blog out on a variety of antique, obsolete typewriters ... When I began my journalism career in 1975 by writing for a new alt-weekly newspaper in Denver called Westword, I wrote my copy an old Underwood manual I found in a thrift store. It had chrome accents and looked the perfect part of the archaic but trusty machine that was way too old for anyone reasonable to use professionally. I reveled in its eccentricity ... I finally succumbed to the evil of word processors. And while I understand and (sort of) agree with all the critiques of digital writing, I have to say I can't imagine having had a career in journalism if we'd still been using typewriters. (Don't even get me started, as a public radio journalist for most of those years, on the advantages of digital audio editing over physically cutting magnetic tape. Yes, I did, it and no, I can't imagine doing it for decades ...).
Interesting pathway you describe for arriving at the inevitability of death. I experienced all those same grim generational milestone:JFK, RFK, Malcolm X, MLK (my dad -- a high school teacher at the time, describes the morning announcements over the intercom at his school, noting the shooting murder of Martin Luther King, followed by an announcement of the weekly meeting of the high school's gun club ...).
Anyway, I'm glad to connect with you again. I'm glad you seem to be happy and doing good work in your new, midwestern life. And I'm glad to be the daily recipient of your Kent Petersonisms.
I look forward to more ...
Best, Liam
Liam, it is great to hear from you. Yes, I am back in the midwest, the land of Lutherans, lutafisk and the last affordable housing in America. If you ever get out this way, we'll have to go for a bike ride & coffee and some good old conversation.
Are you still in Oregon?
No, I retired from the NPR station at the end of 2021 and am now dividing my time between France and the San Juan Islands in Washington State. I'm currently building a small cabin on Orcas Island, where, you may recall, I lived for many years before following work to Seattle and Ashland.
The first funeral I ever attended was a school friend’s who died from cancer in the 2nd grade. Our class was given the day off and so we were out of uniform and on school grounds. It was open casket. Some of us kids were cutting up rough at the wake, so we were separated and taken home. I hugged that kids mom every time I saw her, for the rest of her life.
Btw, I am thoroughly obsessed with that typeface. I think if I found a san serif manual typewriter that worked, I could one day die happy.
Nicely addressed. Let's all keep on focusing on the living.
So poignant.
A lovely little post. So perfectly revealing the disappointment of a childhood 'fact' shattered. Innocence gone in a moment.
My own father died in his sleep when I was 8. By the time I was 16, we also buried three grandparents, an older stepbrother, a stepfather, a best friend of mine from Boy Scouts, and the best friend of my then 8 year old brother. So, yes, early on we got a lesson on how this all comes out. I sometimes think that my deep interest in military history, war, and warfare, was a product of an attempt to examine death in closer detail in a socially acceptable way.
As a. young child, I thought I could outsmart. God and live forever. I believed I just had to find the perfect place to hide from him! After being surrounded by the deaths of grandparents, great aunts and uncles, as well as my nine-day old brother, I realized early on that death was very much a part of living. .My dad died at the. young age of 75, and twenty-three. years later. my mother passed away at the age of 94. I was able to be with both of them, holding each of their hands as they took their last breath. I no longer fear death, but realize it's part of our journey into eternity. Thanks. for sharing!
Wow! 8yrs is such a young age to understand death. At least to understand it the best way possible. Death is so unknown, really other than the fact that the body is gone, how can death be completely understood? It's easiest to think of the simple fact that the body doesn't last forever though. To ME, death makes life more meaningful and gives more of a reason to live it while it's possible to. :) Anyway, wonderful post Kent. :)