Louisiana Voice

In Reflective Memory of Lost Friends

I’ve read extensively and viewed movie scenes in which a survivor of some catastrophe wounders aloud, “Why was I allowed to live when everyone around me died?”

I could never connect with that line. I suppose if you’re not affected by some similar situation, it’s hard to identify with the phrase.

Until now for me.

My father and grandfather each died at 76, so I was somewhat anxious when I hit that age but life went on in its relentless march and unlike them, my heart remained and remains sound.

But now I’m 81 and halfway to 82. Life is a fragile thing and recent events have caused me to begin asking that question over and over in my head. Why me? Why am I still here?

The recent deaths of several individuals whom I knew well has prompted me to ask that question repeatedly. They were classmates or friends who I knew from my baseball days as a young, idealistic man. The thing that seems to unfair (to them) is that they were the kind of people who took care of themselves as opposed to my carefree affection for potato chips and Cokes. One was a renowned heart surgeon; another was a former baseball player. A third was a former hospital administrator/next-door neighbor. One close friend who once was Terry Bradshaw’s favorite receiver left us far too soon. There were others – several women who were high school classmates. Two of those, were twins. Three more men with whom I played softball, are likewise gone. Alzheimer’s got some, cancer and heart disease claimed others. Sadly, there are too many to list here.

I knew them and I know they didn’t abuse their bodies. I, on the other hand, have refused to follow a proper diet my entire life. I love red meat, hate vegetables and refuse to drink sufficient amounts of water to offset my stage four kidney failure as I should.

Yet, I’m still here and while my walk, once a confident gait, has transitioned into a slower shuffle and the occasional stagger, and my back is bent in constant pain, I think my mind is as sound as my heart – that is to say, healthy. Arthritis has diminished my fingers’ ability of fast note-taking and typing, thus lessening my news reporting ability. But I’m still here and others who were more attentive to their good health are not. It doesn’t seem fair. Why me?

True, I don’t smoke and I drink only the occasional beer (like five or six over a year’s time). But I eat all the wrong foods. There was a time when I drank six to eight Coca Colas per day. That, I now know, was a horrible thing to do to my kidneys. I over-indulged in sweets. I still sneak the occasional Snickers bar or Krispy Kreme doughnut. And ice cream? I love Blue Belle vanilla and I could drink my weight in Dairy Queen milkshakes (and I still get one when Betty’s not around)

The fact remains, I have abused and neglected my body unmercifully in my 81 years. Yet, I’m still here and many of my friends who were much healthier, some younger, are not. It saddens me and gives me pause and forces me to ask again why I have been spared. The question helped me in composing this somewhat introspective – and amateurish – poem:

The Coffins that Pass me by

As I pass from middle age to the golden years,

And comprehend how time can fly,

It’s not the setting sun that brings the tears,

But the coffins that pass me by.

*

Whether friend or foe, it matters not a pip.

For one and all, life’s well does run dry;

And it’s not that I fear making that trip,

It’s those coffins that pass me by.

*

Friends and loved ones will pay their respects

As they share stories and laugh and cry;

And each one of us there quietly reflects

On the coffins that pass us by.

*

Whether loved one or stranger who goes on first,

Our own fate is to one day ride

On that dreaded journey we all have cursed

In that damned coffin that once passed us by.