That part of life called Death

Or, Hanging by a Chad in Flrida

As of Jan 7th, the plan was to take the 25th thru the 31st and drive to Florida. We would spend some time with my wife's uncle Richard and his wife, Kathy; then some time with my wife's aging and ailing mother and father.
By the 13th, Eileen's mother, Pearl, was hospitalized and Eileen had to drop everything and rush to her side. By the 19th, Pearl had passed away. Eileen asked me to come right down. That night, as I was packing, it snowed in Raleigh. More than 500 accidents clogged the icy roadways the following day, making my leaving highly dangerous. The following day was just as bad, as the roads were now covered with 'black ice,' making they twice as treacherous.
At noon on Wednesday the 21st, the sun had opened a small window of opportunity. I took it and lit out for the south land. Accidents and returning inauguration traffic made it slow going and it was just after 11:00 when I crossed the Florida line, still many hours from Pembroke Pines near Ft. Lauderdale. The Motel 6 was basic and no frills but got me out in the morning. I started out at 6:00 AM.
More than six hours later, I rolled into the cemetery with 20 minutes to spare before the funeral. Eileen was at her wits end having to handle the many details and her father. She was glad to see me.
I tried to remember who was who and was genuinely glad to see most of Eileen's family, though the day was a sad one. When you lose someone so close as a mother, it's hard to put into words how you feel, even when you know it's coming.
Death is part of life. It's the deal: this is Earth, no one's gettin' out alive. So you know that at the end of life, whenever that is, you meet death and that is the end of life as we know it. If it comes early, we are naturally shocked and feel cheated. If it comes after 80 years of living, it's not so much of a surprise.
It's the feeling of loss more than anything else. Certainly those who are left behind feel a loss. Pearl won't be around to make Green Beans with Almonds. Her husband, Len, depended on her. We called to ask how she was getting along. She thanked me for making my latest book in big print for her. She'll be missed.
At the end she was afraid. Talks with Eileen helped, but she was still afraid. It is Pearl's loss that is at issue here. Pearl lost her husband Len when she died. She also lost her daughter, her home, her friends and her body. she lost the sun in the morning and the moon at night, the rain and the breeze, the taste of lunch and the prospect of visiting her brother in Jupiter where he has a house on the beach.
We go berserk when we lose our keys. If we lose our laptop or Blackberry, we go ballistic. If I can't find my guitar pick I am inconsolable, and I have 40 or 50 - why should one send me into a dither? Because we hate the feeling of loss.
So here comes Death, and Death takes it all. You lose your very ability to communicate to those around you, because your body is gone. Your vocal chords, mouth, hands and eyes are no longer available. Your family and friends do not respond. It could well be this anticipation of total loss that creates a feeling of apprehension in those close to death.
There is confusion, too. Do I look for a light? Is there an angel waiting for me? Is Jenifer Love Hewitt there to help me? You may believe in Heaven or Valhalla, but do you have a coin for the boatman?
Eileen and I are rethinking our arrangements for that time to come. We are planning "Do-not-recessitate" orders and instructions for cremation, where to scatter the ashes and what to sing at the wake. I must remember to include a coin for the boatman.