Joe Boughner suggested / challenged / inspired a bunch of people to think about what they would do if they could write only one more post — if they had only their “last post” to write. And damn it all, here I am getting ready for a long-awaited trip to Italy and I’m thinking about mortality — and enjoying it. So here’s what Joe made me think, and write.

The last post. No, this isn’t it, as far as I know. But that’s as much as I can say, as much as any of us can say.

Let’s be honest — none of us think about our mortality much. We don’t want to think about that. What would that sort of thought at the FRONT of our consciousness do to our actions, our behaviour?

I first confronted the fact that I would die when I was 13, when my brother killed himself. I remember the macabre period of his 36 or so hours in hospital, wakes, funerals, etc. specifically in some ways, and vaguely in others. Like looking down from a rowboat at rocks in the water. The doctor who told us he was dead looked like a character on “Another World,” a soap opera that was HUGE in Cape Breton at the time. A girl I liked a lot kissed me on the cheek on the front steps of the funeral home. I don’t know what happened to her.

My brother left a note. I don’t quite know what it said. I know it still exists, but I haven’t seen it for years. I’m not sure I want to. It was 1979;
He listened to Supertramp as he prepared himself to drink rum and take pills. I still find it difficult to listen to some of their songs.

That act changed everything. Not the kiss. Although that changed things for me too. I can trace back more than 30 years and know that there were innumerable behaviours that changed, that happened, that didn’t happen, because of my brother’s act and its impact on me and on my family. As an adolescent, I know that there were things I pulled back from, things I didn’t do, things I didn’t try, because on a conscious and unconscious level I knew I could die. Because I’d seen it happen.

A few years ago, and many years after my brother died, my partner’s father passed away. He had a massive heart attack which kicked off a stroke. I was in the ICU room when he died, some of his brothers and sisters around the bed, his wife and children out of the room, unable to watch. I felt I needed to witness it on their behalf. It was powerful.

People in Cape Breton say a couple of things at wakes that are related. “Sorryferyertroubles, dear.” and “Sorryferyerloss.” I think those are interestingly appropriate things to say. Whether or not religion comes into it, death shouldn’t be a time of grief for the dead person — we grieve for those of us left behind. If you believe in things like Heaven, then surely the dead person is better off than he or she was here; if you believe things end at the end, then there’s nothing to be sorry for.

We who keep on going are the sad ones, because we have to keep going through life, muddling through as best we can, and because there’s one less person we cared about in the world.

But what does all of that mean for us? Should we NOT connect with others? If we develop bonds of care with others, aren’t we causing them more pain when we inevitably die, and ourselves more pain when those we care about die? Or is the cost-benefit analysis skewed so that what we reap from our relationships while alive outweighs the pain of loss, and colours that pain with sweetness?

For me, connecting is worth more than the pain of loss. And I try to give more pleasure while I’m here than whatever pain my eventual end will cause.

So what if this were my last post? Would it be a note of goodbye? A note of knowledge? A summing up of my successes, my failures, my failings? Words of wisdom? Because, in the end, how does a person identify what they know and what they’ve done that is worth sharing, worth passing on? I look back at four decades and know that I’ve done some good things, done some bad things. I’ve helped bring new things to the world. I’ve loved people and cared for people. And I’ve hurt people and been hurt. And if this were my last post, if I were to … stop … what would my legacy be? Only the good things I’ve done for others.

Here’s what I think I’d say: protect yourself, preserve your own happiness and your own belief in yourself. And once you’ve done that, do as much as you possibly can for others without hurting yourself — unless absolutely necessary.

I would love to say I live this philosophy every day to its fullest. But I don’t. Sometimes I’m selfish; sometimes, stupid; sometimes stupidly selfish. But I try. And I guess if I had to make a REAL last post, it might be this:

try.

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