Deathday Birthday

Yupp my spell check don’t know “deathday.” and one could ask, "why should it?" Oh lets say I made it up. Kate took me to the theater for my birthday to see Le Bett at the Music Box on 44th street off Times Square. I hated the crowds and the stairs down to the “Mens” room but I loved the play. It gave me license to make up words the way Molier did a few hundred years ago. LeBett is a spoof on our blowhard blowvators. That's what inspired me to come up with“Happy deathday to you happy deathday to you” and so forth. You just don’t want to go there. Right? So, why am I?

Since 1954 I have had this terrible birthday problem. My poor father at age 74 was overcome with an total cancer attack. In and out of hospitals with body wrenching treatments. He would plead with me to find a German doctor scientist he had known at Lenox Hill hospital. Of course he was long gone. My atheist father was a true believer in science. Life and death was only a matter of finding the right scientist. Which of course I could not.

As he slips away the life machines keep him from going under. On October 18th I spent the night with papa at Presbyterian Hospital. With only looks and nods of the head he was telling me it was time to go. With my hand on the plug in the wall I asked him three times if he wanted me to pull it. Each time he shook his head with a most emphatic head shake yes. I pulled it. Short time later a nurse appeared looked at papa looked at me smiled, kissed my cheek said, “time for you to leave we have things to do.” By the time I got home there was a telegram. Papa died 15 minutes before the time I had been born.

This is what has made my deathday, birthday a complex mix of emotions that get tangled up in the two most dazzling of our human experience. Since our beginnings humans have struggled ceaselessly with some way to make sense of our deathday. All the worlds peoples invented some kind of religions to assure them that we just don’t end-up as dust. I was fascinated by how my papa replaced the religion of God with science. I am now beginning to understand the balm of believing that “yes I am happy as I am going to meet all my beloved friends.” There are volumes of songs, hymns, oratories about the glory of the hereafter. And how about those heavenly Cathedrals?

I must admit a change of heart. (No, I’m not going to call for a Minister, Priest or Rabbi.) There is an old Wobbly song, “The Preacher and the Slave. “Long haired preachers come out every night . Try to tell us what’s wrong and what’s right.” The chorus. “You will eat by and by in that glorious land up in the sky. That’s a lie.” Like that. The tune is based on the song. In the Sweet By and By. Here’s what that song says.

“There’s a land that is fairer than day. We shall meet on that beautiful shore. And our spirits shall sorrow no more.” We’re going to meet all our friends over there. In this time of my life I sometimes, fleetingly wish I was a true believer who could meet his old friends in the sweet by and by. Unfortunately the old rationalist takes over says,” it will never happen” so make love to the life you got left, pick up your guitar and enjoy those melodious songs of faith and happiness. Honestly I do try.