Eternity

Sometimes it feels like forever when I am waiting on that corner of High Street. I tend to cross the intersection then turn around to make the big leap across four lanes of traffic. Left turns on a bicycle during rush hour is a scary thing, and by the end of the day I'm usually drained of my courage for taking those kind of chances. It might have something to do with the fact that there is a funeral home on that corner. The irony of being run down as I am rushing home from a hectic day on the job just feet from the doors of a place that specializes in stiffs would be wasted on me at that point.
The light seems to take longer on days when it is pouring down rain, but the longest wait for a green light I ever had was the day I witnessed a shooting. It's been more than five years since that incident, but there aren't many days that I don't think about it as I pull up to the curb, looking up at the clock that sits at the top of the sign in front of the Colonial Chapel. Invariably it is this glance that gives me pause. The clock is quite accurate, keeping good time, and reminding those of us who are still above ground just how much time we have left. Waiting for that light to change.
Last week as I was standing at that corner, straddling my bike and trying not to notice that I was just outside the place where the dead bodies were being prepared for the last big trip, I thought about how you get to run red lights when you're dead. Years of sitting patiently, waiting for the light to change pays off on that last ride to the cemetery. The one time you don't need to rush, and you get a free pass. Such a deal.
Then the words my father wrote in our summer cabin's guest book came flooding back to me: "Scatter me here." He made that suggestion in a flurry of good feelings, letting us all know that when he did decide to go, he wanted to be spread about the rocks and trees and meadow that he found so soothing. That was where he wanted to be laid to rest. It made complete sense, which is why, twenty-some years later when he left this mortal life, it was a no-brainer for us to find a spot for his earthly remains. I began to wonder, then worry, about what I might have written or said about how I wanted to be handled when I am no longer able to actively make those choices. For example, now that Reliable Cremations has closed their office near my house, I have to come up with another great idea for what to do after I finish sitting at that stop light.