August 16, 2026: “The Last Time,” Mortality, “Card Trick”

Most young people don’t think about death a whole lot.  They’re too busy worrying about popsicles and grades and crushes and friends.  I even see this attitude in my college students.  Their whole focus is the future, what they’re going to be when they grow up.  It’s my job somehow to prepare them for the “real world.”  The problem is that they think they’re going to live forever and have plenty of time to deal with all of life’s brokenness and need.  

Marie Howe receives a lesson in mortality . . . 

The Last Time

by: Marie Howe

The last time we had dinner together in a restaurant 

with white tablecloths, he leaned forward

and took my two hands in his and said,

I’m going to die soon.  I want you to know that.

And I said, I think I do know.

And he said What surprises me is that you don’t.

And I said I do.  And he said, What?

And I said, Know that you’re going to die.

And he said, No, I mean know that you are.

Only people facing impending death really get it.  Whether they’re ten or 75 years old, they understand how brief our time on this planet is, and they also understand how meaningless most of life’s distractions are.  Think about it.  When you’re breathing your last breath, are you going to give a shit whether you own a Lamborghini or a ‘75 Dodge Dart?  And, if you’re lucky enough to reach old age, will it matter if you live in a condo in Boca Raton or an assisted living facility?  Mortality has a way of boiling down life to its essentials:  are you loved?  are you happy?  are you at peace?

In the end, love and happiness and peace are what it’s all about.  A person can be loved by a dachshund in a secluded cabin, and a person can be loved by three generations of family living in a Brooklyn townhouse.  A person can be happy living in a Spanish villa with a billion-dollar bank account, and a person can also be happy living in a studio apartment while working a minimum-wage job.  Finally, a person can find peace watching a Lake Superior sunset, and a person can find peace at a Kendrick Lamar concert at Ford Field in Detroit.

Love.  Happiness.  Peace.  That’s all that really matters.

It’s Sunday night.  My puppy is sleeping on the floor next to me.  An episode of Portrait Artist of the Year is on the TV.  My wife made a delicious dinner of meatballs and gravy.  In a little while, I’m going to be leading a virtual poetry workshop from my home office.  This is definition of a perfect evening for me.  I feel blessed because I’m surrounded by love in a safe space.  And I’m sort of dreading leaving this safe space tomorrow morning to go to work, where love and happiness and peace are much more difficult (if not impossible) to find.

After last night’s post, I think most of you understand my anxiety about reentering the “real” world.  Most weekends, I try to curate an environment where love, happiness, and peace exist freely because the rest of my life is so chaotic and pressured.  I’ve especially embraced this cocoon of serenity this weekend, and the idea of breaking out of it tomorrow is . . . well . . . almost painful.

Many friends and family members have reached out to me with messages of love and support in the 24 hours since I posted yesterday.  That has lifted my spirits so much (and made me cry on a few occasions).  The reading in church today was about the Gentile woman begging Christ to cure her daughter of demonic possession.  Jesus says to the woman, “It isn’t right to take food from the children and throw it to the dogs.”  And the woman responds that even dogs eat the crumbs from their master’s table.  Jesus heals the woman’s daughter because “. . . your faith is great.”

I have faith that I’ll make it through this blue period because I’ve done it before.  Lots of people think the antonym of faith is doubt.  It isn’t.  It’s fear.  Now, I’m not that brave of a person.  I’m afraid of a lot of things.  Rodents.  Heights.  Bad poetry.  Green bean casserole.  The trick is not to let fear rule your life.

I will wake up tomorrow morning, get dressed, and go to work, despite my anxieties.  Or maybe because of my anxieties.  I don’t know.  If I just called in sick and curled up on the couch tomorrow, fear wins.  Anxiety wins.  Sadness wins.  Plus, I might never leave my house again.  So, to paraphrase the advice of a therapist friend, I’m going to fake it ‘til I make it.  

I will have love and happiness and peace in my life again.  Eventually.

Saint Marty wrote this poem today.  It’s about conquering fear . . . 

Card Trick

by: Martin Achatz

My dog doesn’t like lightning, scoots

into the dark bathroom at the first pang

and rumble of electricity in the sky.  There

she stays, curled tight as a fist on the bath mat

while the clouds are stitched with jagged

flame.  I don’t bother her as she cowers

in there, leave her to find some sense

of safety to uncoil the springs of her body.

Sometimes, though, I go and sit next

to her, put my hand on her heaving flanks,

leave it there until she relaxes, looks up at me

as if I’ve just shuffled the deck of her fur,

turned the lightning into the ace of hearts.