Contemplating Death

I have a friend who is nearing 90 years old, and many of her friends have passed away. I try to imagine losing most of my friends and how bereft I would feel without their presence in my life and how forced I would be to contemplate my own death. And how lonely I would be living without them. I hope if I live to almost 90, I would meet a friend like me, someone who found me interesting and joyful.

Contemplating my own death is apparently a good thing because it hones in on the present and reminds me of my impermanence. This Buddhist practice is meant to help relieve anxiety and future forecasting and to ground me deeply into the present.

But it ain’t easy.

Last night, one of my dear and oldest friends, Alice Ann, called from Atlanta – it was 1:30am her time – and she called to tell me our friend, Tracey Wehunt, had had a stroke and died. I had to be reminded how old Tracey’s son is (he is 20 years old) – it eased my shock just knowing her son was of an age where he could take care of himself.

I was alone in an Air BnB in Tucson.

I crawled into bed thinking about Tracey. She was super tall, a competitive swimmer with broad shoulders, and a friend who had disappeared into living a separate life when Facebook brought her back into my sphere. She came in at a time I was going through a struggle. She became supportive and had my back at each turn – always nudging me on with encouragement. She had my back the way someone who knew me when, who knew my mom, and family, was reintroduced to me and still had the ability to offer her love as if the years between us had been a blip.

A stroke and died.

I have an indelible memory of Tracey when she dated Steve – a popular guy in our high school – who drove an Oldsmobile 442. I remember her long chlorinated blond hair and her sitting in the passenger seat of his black car with brown racing stripes in someone’s driveway – one of those Atlanta driveways at a steep angle – and we were at someone’s party – and she was beautiful, and he was handsome, and the muscle car was striking.

We were students of sex, drugs and rock n roll. Muscle cars. 1977. Jimmy Carter for President.

I don’t know if I will make it to nearly 90 years of age, yet I’m already losing friends. Today, I meditated on being present. I’ve been actively contemplating my past and worrying about my future – losing Tracey gave me the gift of remembering I am of the nature to die and this present moment is all that is here, for me, for us, to savor.

I want to laser my focus to my sacred time, on moments, on my now.

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