Mind, body, spirit… laptop hard drive!

Been having some problems with my computer recently. It’s kind of old and I often push it to the limit downloading gobs and gobs off the Internet. I love free software!

Last night, I was attempting to carry out normal web functions (blog posting, surfing, site creation) when I noticed my computer really starting to drag. “Poor thing” but please just hang on a few more minutes. Several minutes turned into over an hour and I could sense “my digital brain” wanting to grind to a screeching halt.

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I’m shutting you down right now. Forgive me for expecting you to run EVERY application known to man at the same time. I won’t do it again.

Woke up this morning ready for a fresh start. “Ye Olde IBM” should be fine. I’m sure it got enough rest. Time to get this day moving. Uh, oh. Not so fast.

Um. What’s with the error message? Why can’t I boot up? Okay. Don’t panic. Try again… It’s not working! Arrrrrrg!… Hey, I know. Since it’s saying things are missing, I’ll just do that “restore everything” deal. Yeah. That’ll fix it…

Yes. Affirmation. That really fixed it. Computer booted right up without any problems because EVERYTHING was deleted off the hard drive except the basic stuff you get with a new computer. Yes, it was insane of me not to have a backup but also extremely liberating. I have owned this computer for over 5 years and accumulated way too much. Watched my IBM struggle each time I forced a boot and yet, I still stretched its capabilities. As the laptop would grind and sputter during the day, I urged it to do more.

Cannot be angry. (The laptop warned me over and over but I was too stubborn to listen.) Instead, I find a lesson. My computer runs much better now without the baggage. Nothing holding it back. I like that. I feel a life application. Perhaps my mind is troubled, my body ill, or my spirit down. I can purge the old, restoring myself to a new state. Fascinating process to observe on a computer. Looking forward to living my own mind/body/spirit metamorphosis.

Sometimes, we must let go of the past to see the future.

Working the funeral of a friend

This was not my original plan but it worked out for the best. I knew my husband would be “working” but I thought I would attend as a mourner. That status changed after I was handed my name-tag. There was a badge down at the funeral home with my name on it. I used it when attending funerals in a more professional capacity. Didn’t think I would wear it last Friday but I pinned it to my jacket.

So, it was official. I was “on the job”. Rode in the lead car with my husband and one of the assistants. The church was beautiful with magnificent stained glass windows. As far as I remembered, this was my first Catholic funeral. I walked in behind the casket and watched the preparations for the viewing in a room just off from the sanctuary. Time for one more goodbye.

Climbed back into the lead car to get the family. I stood next to the curb between the two limousines and watched the family members fill the cars. Then (what seemed like moments later), I watched these same cars empty. There was that wave of humanity again. People instinctively moving and I was one of them. I kept looking for somewhere to be (the outside door, right outside the sanctuary, just inside the church, near the viewing room).

Mourners streamed in and out of the room deeply moved. Selfishly, I wished time would slow just a little but it just kept ticking away. Watched one of the funeral directors and a couple of the assistants approach the casket and I averted my eyes. Did not wish to see the casket being closed that last time.

I stayed just outside the sanctuary with my husband during the service. Could see and hear everything and, once again, I experienced mixed emotions. To me, funerals represented a loss (a parting) but also a celebration of life and an acknowledgement of things to come. Now, one final destination and this journey would truly be over.

When I climbed out of the car at the cemetery, I felt a little lost and needed something to do. I asked my husband. He suggested moving flowers so that was what I did. I walked to the back of the van, grabbed arrangements, and placed them upright on the ground. I then picked one and walked across the grass. Kept looking up at the tent over the grave and down at my feet. Seemed like I traveled there in only a few steps but it must have been more than that. Walked back to see the pallbearers with the casket preparing to move forward.

Everyone flowed toward the grave. The family was seated. Time kept ticking again. The priests were finished. It was over. I walked back to the car with my husband.

This had really happened. I was never going to see my friend ever again. Time does not stop nor does it even slow down slightly. Life is so short.

——————–

Related Posts:
Saying goodbye at the funeral home
That last phone conversation
Attended my first Episcopalian funeral a couple of weeks ago…

Saying goodbye at the funeral home

Did I mention my husband’s business handled the funeral of our friend? Since the funeral home was only about 5 minutes from the house, it was no big deal for my husband to swing by and get me. Remembering the optimistic squirrel I witnessed just moments before, I chatted nervously in the car but sounded upbeat. My husband parked and we both entered the funeral home through the side chapel doors.

How many times had I paused at the open casket of someone’s loved one and said words out of respect? Hesitation this time. I purposely avoided the visitation on Thursday evening because I couldn’t deal with the thought of my friend in this new context of death. Now, it was Friday morning. I was so sure that the casket would have been closed by now but it was not. My husband passed and turned the corner. I slowed my stride, took a deep breath, and approached. Many mixed emotions. Satisfied that those who prepared her body had done a good job. Angry because whenever I needed to fuss at my husband about something, it would now be on my own. Happy that her beauty was still evident even after death. Sad that I would truly miss her.

Breathed deeply a second time and touched her hand. It was cold and suddenly my figurative “blurred vision” of the past couple of days snapped into focus. Still touching her hand:

Okay, sweetie. This is it. It was a joy to know you. I will miss you. I promise to take care of your friend [my husband]. Rest now.

I joined my husband in his office and talked until it was time to go to the church.

——————–

Related Posts:
That last phone conversation
Ever wonder about the optimism of squirrels?
Attended my first Episcopalian funeral a couple of weeks ago…

That last phone conversation

I met my friend through my husband. She was so down-to-earth and real and honest. A ball of energy but not in some weird, hyperactive way. More in a radioactive way. Electrons would literally spin from the many orbitals surrounding her and enter yours. Theoretically, the addition of electrons should impact you negatively. No, the transfer was always positive and you would be a better person because of it.

That last phone conversation took place about 6 weeks ago. She was sitting in my husband’s office at the funeral home. Not sure what they were discussing but my husband called me at home and said she needed to speak to me. The next thing I heard:

What’s wrong with your husband?

I thought to myself:

Hmmm. Where’s that itemized list?

She was mad because my husband NEVER takes time off. I had nagged him for years and finally just let it go. (He’s a grown man, can make his own decisions, blah, blah, blah.) She had no idea and was fussing electrons a-flying. At one point she actually said:

Life is short.

Could not ever imagine that 6 weeks later, she would not be here. The words of our last phone conversation play over and over in my brain. I hear the lesson and I am a better person because of it. Life is short.

Ever wonder about the optimism of squirrels?

I was standing in the doorway on last Friday morning and noticed a squirrel in the yard. Since I’ve been on this planet for a number of years, I’m no stranger to outdoor creatures. Squirrels are cute. They scamper and scurry and always make me smile. This one seemed exceptionally energetic. It was springing through the grass as if on a mission. I soon discovered why. The busy little squirrel had a nut. The fascinating thing was the slight of hand it used to get it buried. Performing the magic trick quickly, it then stood there in a “ta-da” moment. I next expected the squirrel to take a bow but it joyfully bounded off instead. So, I then thought:

You have to be pretty optimistic to be a squirrel. Have to assume you will be around to possibly need that nut at a later date. Tomorrow is not promised but hey…just in case.

I found this particular squirrel to be so significant because I watched it while waiting for my husband to pick me up. We were to attend the funeral of a friend and, at that moment, I needed that little dose of optimism.

Attended my first Episcopalian funeral a couple of weeks ago…

My husband is Episcopalian but I am not. A bit of a mixed marriage. Will probably convert in the near future. Right now (and I’m sure part of this is because of my geeky nature), I enjoy being an observer. It’s interesting to compare and contrast what I see with what I experienced through my upbringing. Mostly, quite similar. Every now and again, there’s a difference.

Because my husband is an undertaker, I often hear descriptions of various services. The processional, songs, readings, prayers. That sort of thing. When he explains Episcopalian funerals, I am always fascinated by the concept of a pall. Every casket is covered so he speaks of it as the “great equalizer”.

Always just assumed the pall he referenced was dark, heavy, and velvety. Quite surprised, during the funeral I attended, to see this was not the case. The casket was transported to the front of the church draped in a light-colored, embroidered, linen-like covering. If I had seen this cloth in isolation, I don’t think I would have ever associated it with a funeral. I was moved by the idea that every casket would be handled in the same fashion.

We live in such a competitive society. People strive for an advantage. Some fight or even kill to get it. Some relish the thought of being “better than” equal. For what? The outcome is the same. Everyone will eventually die. You can’t talk or buy your way out of it. That pall reminded me of that. I attended the funeral of a good man who lived a good life. He will be missed. I can attempt to be a good person and live a good life. Hope that I also will be missed but in the end, I will also die. Everyone will eventually die.

Both the pall (and death in general) are great equalizers.