Before Their Time - Death, Art and Trying to Make Sense of Loss

Two friends of mine died this week.  Randy was the husband of Asha, who I met through a new moms group 15 years ago when our kids were babies.  I didn't know him super well, and we socialised only occasionally, but we'd run into each other now and then, his kids went though my kids' school for grades 7 and 8, and he took the time to chat with me during my job search.  But he made an impression because he was one of those rare people you would genuinely call a great guy.   Real, positive and would leave you feeling better for having spent time with him.  He got cancer and died after a long battle,.  He was 58.  We knew it was coming because we were on a mailing list that got updates about the ups and downs of his treatment over three years.  But it still sucked when he was gone.

Two days later  I learned my volunteer colleague Ann died suddenly, alone at home, after a trip to Greece with other volunteer friends.  I knew her from various committees, though I wouldn't say we were really friends.  She would be in her mid-60s, vibrant, impeccably turned out, a retired principal, and someone you felt in good hands with.  It was a shock, in contrast to Randy.    Neither make any sense of course.

I was at the art gallery on both days.  I happened to come across a painting called Heaven the day of Randy's death.  I posted it to Facebook with a terse comment.  It's sort of a maudlin statement and I don't know what reaction I expected.  I hope I didn't disturb the people who are fighting cancer now.  But I had to grasp on to  the thought he is somewhere out of pain.

Today as I walked around I came across images that represented memento mori - reminders of our mortality.  They're supposed to keep us humble, but today they represented not just that our time is finite but that it can come at any time.  One piece by Micah Lexier is a carefully crafted piece showing two cases full of coins, calculated to show a person's lifespan.  Every six months a coin is moved from the ordered set to the jumbled one.  I looked at it and realised life is really like a sack of coins  - you don't know how many there are.  The bag might seem heavy but it can run out any time.   Randy kept reaching in day after day until this week, when he looked in his bag and there were none left.  With Ann it felt like someone had taken the ordered case and just tossed it all in the other one at once.

The other piece is one in a series collected by Ken Thomson that fashionable 17th century Germans would have commissioned to keep themselves grounded.  This one is called Death Triumphant.    I draw no conclusions for living my life any better.   I jut thought it made an interesting if more traditional interpretation of the same theme.

On a final note, here is The Ever Open Door, a corny passage to heaven you-can't-take-it-with-you piece from the European salon, where half the pictures seem to be about death with a romantic sensibility. RIP Randy and Ann.  We'll remember you.