Bleeding

So I had two unexpected reactions to my funeral music column. The first one was from my bishop, a wonderful man who's a therapist by trade. Anyway, he wanted to know if I'm doing . . . okay. And I said yes, because the truth is I'm thinking a lot less about death and so forth than I used to. The second one was from my neighbor Kathy who is now anxiously worrying about writing her talk for my funeral.



Anyway. Sorry! I didn't mean to throw my bishop and Kathy for a loop. They don't need loops! That's why I won't turn this blog post into a column anytime soon.



Okay, so my brother is a surgeon, right? And the good thing about having surgeons in the family is that they can hook you up with other surgeons when you fall down and break your wrist. And the other good thing is that they're always good for a useful graphic medical metaphor. For example, my brother, who is a buoyant, natural born optimist, has been known to say in mordant moments, "Well, one way or the other, all bleeding eventually stops."



I find this sentiment oddly comforting. In fact, I think we should all cross-stitch it on little pillows. It's a reminder that there's an end to things--pain, problems, disappointments, crap situations, whatever. And here's the good news, most of the time you're still alive once the bleeding, in fact, stops. I think this is awesome. Don't you agree?



(You can see, however, why I might not turn this into a column right away.)