inspired
to journal
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Raise the Dead
"I'll
never get out of your love alive..." Emmylou Harris (Editor's note, 2004: I
wrote this a few years ago, but it is a timeless exercise. I do
it every day.....) Last year a man was murdered in my town. It was brutal and unnecessary, and allegedly the result of county negligence. An inmate, awaiting trial for murder in a drug deal gone bad, walked away from a work detail. This innocent man, checking his mail on the side of the road, was murdered the next day. The inmate was found, charged with another murder, and the friends and family of the other man were left in shock. A few days later, I was in town getting gas. Across the street is a small church. There was a huge crowd there at 2PM on a Sunday, an odd time of day, I thought to myself. I didn't see a bride and/or groom. It was a young crowd (my age) dressed very casually. I couldn't imagine what this event was! As I drove home, it dawned on me that this was the memorial service for the murdered man. Then I remembered the announcement on the radio. I thought, Wow! What a turn out! The next morning on the radio, the announcer said it was a beautiful service, well-attended by about 250 people. Granted, the media and the Community Against Violence were there, but the rest of the crowd was comprised of friends, acquaintances and family of this gentle man. He must have been quite a guy, I thought. So..... I started wondering about MY memorial service! I hoped to not die a violent death and make the front page of the newspaper, but I if I died that day, everyone I have touched would come to the service. Who would that be? Friends and family are obvious. But what about those other people in my life that I look forward to seeing, and they me? I can talk to anyone for at least five minutes. Wherever I go, I gab. At the natural food store, I chat in the produce department, the meat department, to the women in the health and beauty department, and to the cashier on my way out. I jibber jabber at the gas station, the bank, the library. I always talk to the morning bus driver, the other parents at the bus stop, the man who sells the newspaper at the intersection. I talk to strangers. I try to lighten the day of the Wal-Mart cashiers - heaven knows, they probably need it! I laugh with the cashiers, too, at the pharmacy, the supermarket, the herb store, the shoe store, the nursery, and every restaurant where we eat - even a drive-thru. Every person I've ever sold beads to has become special along with my fellow vendors at the local Pow Wow, the flea market and other venues. Include the plumber, the roofer, my old landlord and his darling mother. The contractor, the handy-woman, the manager of the water store, the dentist, the hardware store, the radio station, the schools, the gym. There are people everywhere in my community that I repeatedly touch, and they have all touched me, too. It's not a one-way street, by any means! I started this exercise over a year ago, and still, as I go through my day, I meet people that I hope would attend my service. And now I have this huge and growing online community, a global group of men and women whom I touch and who touch me. I add you all to the invitation list. Please come! Here's your prompt: Die for me. Imagine yourself six feet under or in an urn on the mantle (whose mantle?). Someone close to you has arranged a service to celebrate your life. Who's on the invitation list? Who comes because they heard the service listed in the "Hometown News" segment on the radio? Who saw your obituary in the paper? Who passed the word along on the grapevine? Who knew of you, but didn't know you personally? Make a list. As you go through your own daily routine, note others who would go out of their way to celebrate YOU! Don't be shy, don't underestimate. Go out there and see who loves you. This is an ongoing exercise, too. It will be something you think of out of habit after a while. Now, raise the dead..... *
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