RIP, Post Script

Dear All, 

Thank you so much for your kindness and concern. For awhile, there was much sadness, and I know that for those who were closer to Vic and Megan than I was, it is nowhere near diminished. Still there will be beauty, there will be peace; I only hope they can see goodness and hope soon.

A special thanks to Robert, whose heartfelt condolences reached me from across the sea, and to Trixie, who came from down the street. I’m glad we’re friends.

My sister said that she was happy she got to know Megan, if only through her death. She said she felt lucky because Megan had a wonderful life, with joy and adventure and courage. That’s a nice tribute to Megan. Even though our paths intersected only very briefly, I’m glad they did. My course is positively altered by her, which is kind of the goal in this game – to try to bring good things to others. Thanks to my sister for making me feel better, though I resisted it.

Babe is about to graduate, and I’m taking him and whoever he wants to Vic’s dad’s restaurant. We’ll raise a glass to friends who couldn’t be there to celebrate with us, and Babe laughed like a crazy man when I told him his glass would have to be filled with Coke. By the way, he told me Vic was going to an acting class, and that he loved it. I’m glad about that.

The other day, after working in the garden, I took Atticus for a walk. I passed the neon orange markings on the street, the arrows, numbers, boxes and circles that the police spray painted there after Megan’s accident. Up ahead, I noticed the cars slowing down and one car screeched suddenly to a stop.

I didn’t really want to look, but I kept walking. I felt like I had started on a course towards seeing, witnessing what was going on, and I kind of had a duty to keep going. When I looked into the car windows, the people were straining to see what lay ahead.

I guess that’s what we do; we always look ahead, even though we know that we can’t see very far, even though we know the scene might have changed by the time we get there, even though we know that what we see might cause us great pain or sorrow. No matter how many times we wish we could erase our eyes, void our memories or purge our emotions, we keep going forward.

Why?

Stupidity, maybe. Habit. Eternal Recurrence. The need to know. But I think it’s hope, even if it eye-of-the-needle hope. We look ahead because maybe, just possibly, what is in front of us might be something we are so glad we didn’t miss. Maybe the best is yet to come. Maybe up ahead is better than where we are now. Or maybe, what lies in front will remind us of how wonderful it all has been.

In rush hour, on a busy urban street, traffic on both sides backed up because a duck and seven little ducklings were crossing the street. I don’t know where they came from or where they were going, but they just kept waddling across, not looking left or right, just taking their time, while all these high-strung, car-pooling, work-weary people were kept waiting.

In car after car, the people were smiling, and pointing, and some were even laughing.

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