Death is a Holiday

Death became an intimate if unwelcome visitor in my life from an early age.

When I was four, my favorite uncle died from emphysema and alcoholism. He thought I made the sun rise every day, and I was so happy when he would visit us from out of town. My mother would cringe as he put me in his car, because she knew I would end up sitting on a bar as my uncle showed me off to his new drinking buddies. He would take me to a nearby lake, and we would sit in a boat and rock gently among the lily pads.

At five, my grandfather was my best friend. An Iowa farmer, he and my grandmother would visit us in wintertime when the fields were fallow. Each day when I came home from kindergarten, we would play a game or two of Uncle Wiggly. My grandpa was fascinated by the construction of the bridge linking Virginia Beach with Virginia's Eastern Shore, and we would go sit on the sand at Chick's Beach and watch the bridge rise out of the Chesapeake Bay. One evening when we were in the living room he stood up to get his glasses off the mantle and died of a massive heart attack before my eyes.

When I was nine, my best friend died with bone cancer. It was a painful ordeal for Scott, but he was usually cheerful. He looked very small in a child's white casket.

As time went on, I lost more people...a favorite aunt, my grandmother, both of my parents, and my partner.

AIDS inserted itself into my relationship with Michael. At the time, there were only two treatments available, and Michael could not tolerate either one. Within two years of diagnosis, death relieved him of his suffering. You would have loved Michael. He was funny, artistic, had a green thumb, and he loved people. He was also a fighter. His doctor was amazed at his determination, and finally had to tell him that he must quit working. He was with a friend shopping one day and fell down with a grand mal seizure. Our friend wanted to take him to the hospital, but he got up, dusted himself off, and kept on shopping...adding new meaning to "shop 'til you drop."

After Michael died, I fell into a paralyzing depression. Although I believed in God, I did not feel part of it. One night before I fell into a fitful sleep, I asked for some sign that Michael was okay. Two days later, a close friend that I worked with told me that her husband had had an amazing dream two nights earlier (the night I asked for a sign). Ronnie had dreamed that he was at work, outside taking a smoke break, when Michael drove up in his little red car. Michael told Ronnie that he was doing great, and Ronnie asked to ride with him down the road. Michael told Ronnie "no, I have to go alone. You can't go with me, but tell everyone that I'm doing fine," waved good-bye, and drove on.

If I had had this dream myself I would have chalked it up to my mind trying to comfort me with a false vision. But since this message came through a dear friend who loved and cherished Michael, I took it as confirmation that Michael was where he should be, free of pain and enjoying a new life.


I believe that God sends us messages of his love for us constantly, but we are usually so caught up in our day to day worries that we do not see these messages for what they truly are. The next time you are frustrated because you were delayed by a red light, consider that if the light had been green there may have been a haphazard driver down the road that may have involved you in a terrible accident. God is like us: all he (or she) really wants is acknowledgement and thanks. We are created in his image.

I believe that death is a gift, our reward for an earthly life well-lived, and that we will rejoin those loved ones that have gone before us. Take the time today to be of service to others. Even small gestures can mean much when offered in the spirit of friendship and love.