Mortality

Brendan Hartmann. Photo by Callen Harty.

Lately, even before this last weekend, mortality has been on my mind. My partner, Brian, has been talking about the fact that we’re getting older and how he worries about me because of already surviving a heart attack a decade ago. And I can’t imagine life without him in it, either.

In the last several weeks or so, I had seen a couple friends pass away, another go into hospice, and another go into the hospital and he is not expected to make it out. In addition, I’ve seen other friends lose mothers and fathers, grandmothers, lovers, and friends in just a few weeks. Yesterday, we woke up to news that a 29-year old friend, Brendan Hartmann, had passed away on Friday. And it reminded me that mortality isn’t reserved for the old.

It can be easy to forget that every day is a gift. Every day awakens new opportunities. And every day, most of us waste it by not living life to its fullest, by not connecting with those we love, and by taking so many things for granted.

I was surrounded by death when I was younger. I do not remember any of my grandparents, my father, and my oldest brother as they were all gone before I could form any memories. In addition, I could have died numerous times in my life, including a near-death experience when I was two years old and the 100% blockage in my left coronary just over a decade ago.

Because of this, I have always understood how precious life is. I’ve done my best to live it well. But I have also failed. I have let friendships fade away. I’ve laid in bed depressed when I could be out doing something. I’ve forgotten to appreciate.

Brian and I have been making an effort lately to try to reconnect with people, to make sure those we like and love know we like and love them, to spend quality time with each other, and to make our days count. He’s ten years younger than me, but I’m 62 now. I understand I could have another heart attack tomorrow, or get into a fatal car wreck, or move into the next realm of existence in any of the myriad ways that is possible. I also understand I could live as long as my mother, which would mean a third of my life is still ahead of me. Brian could go before me. The point is, we can’t know, so we have to treasure the days because of that and honor the gift of living.

I am thankful that at least within the last couple months I had reached out to Brendan to encourage him. He had been going through hell in St. Louis, getting and losing jobs, getting punched by someone trying to rob him and then getting harassed by the police, hitting what he called rock bottom for a year, living in a place too rough for such a sweet and gentle soul. But most of the time, despite whatever hardships he was having, his posts were about believing in the kindness of strangers and the innate goodness of people.

I don’t know how Brendan died, and I don’t need to know. What I know is that he was too young. He was a talented young man with an inquisitive and wonderful mind. He cared deeply for people, even those he didn’t know. He had potential. Despite his troubles, despite whatever it was that took him from us, he deserved to live through his rough period and come out stronger on the other side. So many people do. Some do not. I wish that he had succeeded. I wish that he had found whatever help he needed. But we can’t change what is. We can only learn from it and move forward.

Tonight, my promise is to honor the gift of life by recommitting fully to it and to those I love. This is how I can honor Brendan and the others who have recently left my circle and this plane. The greatest gift we can give to others is to take the time to listen to them, be with them, and love them. I will do my best.