LIVING TOGETHER, DYING TOGETHER, RIDING THE WAVE

Living together doesn’t always mean living under the same roof.

The same goes for dying together.

When we lose someone close, we lose a little bit of ourselves.

But we never lose the shared memories.

This is one of them:

Take a look at your life span so far, from the day you were born to right now.

Who, besides you, are the notable figures? Who are the good, the bad, the ugly?

These are the people, for better or worse, of your era, our era.

For instance, I was born in 1954, the same year as Oprah, the hydrogen bomb, and the shopping mall, according to Timeline. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

While none of it adds up to anything resembling a personal legacy, it all counts in a limited scope of history.

This is the sharing part of life: other lives matter as much as yours, so why not celebrate it all?

A Life Celebration

Making life plans is best done in pencil.

Why? Because things change. And not always for the better, but we’re signed up for it all.

At some point down the line the music stops, then changes when it starts up again.

Instead of a band in full swing, we get this guy in the image above.

I saw him pass by my a motel window. It felt like a vision from the movie O Brother Where Art Thou.

After all, this was Lincoln City, and the man was dressed for another place and time.

My first thought: If you need someone to play walk-up music for your soul, this might be the guy.

There he is, just floating by with his National steel guitar.

Where did he come from? Where is he going?

I like my interpretation. He’s leading the way to a better place.

One Last Day Living Together

Our last day living together began with a plan, a plan so good it couldn’t fail.

And it didn’t.

The plan was to gather together and get on a boat headed out to international water.

It was a sister plan made by a sister for a sister.

We gathered up at the dock in Depoe Bay. While there’s lots to do on the Oregon coast, we were on a mission.

I grew up on the coast where Coos Bay runs out to the ocean at Charleston. Depoe Bay and the ocean are much closer to each other.

Once we cleared the bridge out of the harbor the captain poured the coal to his engines.

Instead of floating over the swells, this big boat powered through them. The only white caps came from the wake behind the boat.

The group onboard included family, friends, and boyfriend. On this day everyone was a sailor.

We stopped and felt the boat rock in the swells. Thick fog limited the horizon to about a hundred yards or less.

This was a shared time, one last time, and it felt like we were all living together in the moment.

We gave Susan to the ocean with flowers and a song so beautiful for the time that I got something in my eye.

We all felt it. That’s what it means with living together.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
And the dreams that you dreamed of
Once in a lullaby

Oh, somewhere over the rainbow
Blue birds fly
And the dreams that you dreamed of
Dreams really do come true