drscott | Death Comes

Friday I tackled the long-delayed regrouting of the shower. After about two hours of putting in grout, I realized it was going to take a lot longer than I planned, so I quit halfway down and got the sponge to wipe off the excess. But by then what I had initially done had hardened, and "wiping" became hard scrubbing. I spent an hour (and probably 800 calories) cleaning off the excess. Since I won't be able to finish up until Sunday and you have to wait 48 hours before sealing it, then another 24 hours for the sealant to dry, we're using the guest bath shower for awhile. Lesson: don't grout more than a few square feet before removing the excess; work in sections....

Friday evening after the gym we headed over to Mark and John's for dinner and a review showing of Harold and Maude. I saw it around 1975 at MIT; it's interesting how dated it is, with its early-70s cutesy iconoclasm. The proximate cause for the reviewing was a tour of Bay Area film locations Mark planned to take the next day; major scenes were filmed on the older Dumbarton Bridge, for example. One of the funerals in the movie takes place at St. Thomas Aquinas Church, 745 Waverly at Homer Street, Palo Alto, which we parked in front of...

Saturday, before heading two blocks up toward University for Cameron's memorial service at All Saints' Episcopal Church. The church itself was interesting, a Brutalist concrete structure with stained glass and a pipe organ; the service was nice, though I kept missing the responses (the concept isn't used in the church I grew up in.) Part of the SF Gay Mens Chorus sang, and I was tearing up before I knew it.

excessor kept needing his hanky. Major LJ and El Camino Reelers turnout; Cameron will be missed.

But how does this affect me, ~~Al Franken?~~

dr_scott? I have a bad record at dealing with death. The first funeral I was old enough to go to (12), for my Uncle Stanley who had died of a heart attack at 52, I refused to go to. I was stubborn and was afraid to see a dead body and of having to talk to the many strange relatives. The second opportunity was for my grandmother, but by then I was 20 and I had a more responsible attitude. I spent much of the after-service time talking with the minister about what it was like being a minister. I began to see the funeral service as a ritual to allow some to grieve in public, others to reminisce, and everyone to jointly agree that the departed was going to be missed but that life would go on. The wakes after featured laughter and tears alternating, sometimes within a few seconds of each other, as stories were told and old friendships renewed.

I missed the AIDS years when so many of my current friends buried half or more of their friends. I wasn't all that socially integrated in my 20s in Boston, and while most of the friends I had there did indeed die during the mid-to-late 80s, I had started escaping my partner at the time by moving to Vancouver, where I knew few people. So the half-dozen funerals of friends I might have gone to, I didn't, since I was a continent away. By comparison to most, death has barely touched me.

Is there such a thing as being too philosophical about this? As a positive, my Tralfamadorian view of life makes it possible to distance myself from losses; just like I feel a romantic relationship with someone takes place only in a timeless space that we share, and therefore distance and time are no impediment, I don't fear death or feel the pain of being deprived of a loved one, because it is what it is -- I only get angry if there were matters left unfinished or potentialities wasted. Cameron lived a full life, contributing as much by how he helped other people as he did directly, and while there could have been more, he left the world better off than he found it, which is all that we should aspire to.