Count The Dead

I talk to my dad once or twice a week. I noticed today that during every conversation I've had with him for months now he mentions a friend or acquaintance of his that has died. These are people I do not know, people I may have met once as a child, or heard the names of over dinner. I thought of asking him not to mention these peoples deaths when we talk. It's mildly depressing every conversation detouring inevitably to someones death. But then I reconsidered.

Death is nature taking it's course. Everybody dies. We should not forget that fact or the people that have gone before. We should not forget the contributions big and small, the struggles big and small, the joys big and small- of those that have died. My dad telling me about his friends and acquaintances that have passed is a way of keeping them alive. Of cultivating their memory. Of giving credence and value to their life.

We cannot forget the dead. They lived. They paved the way to the present with lives both simple and complex. Every life has meaning. Some tragic, some prosperous, some inconsequential. They all deserve to be remembered. To have names that are still uttered.

I realized I was looking at it wrong. I'm not bogged down by this list of deaths, I'm strengthened by it. By listening to my dad recount funerals and names and hearing about their lives, I'm participating in them. I'm contributing in a small way to their legacy, their scope. I'm here to take note. To remember. To live on.

Respect the past, live in the present.