Death — A Part Of Life

Edition #45 — 14 Jun 2003

Where Is Bunny Heaven?

Two weeks ago, a baby cottontail rabbit died as I cradled her in my hands. Desperately struggling to breath, I suspect she died of pneumonia, or perhaps organ failure; my cat had caught her outside and bitten into her spine, causing paralysis of her legs, etc. I don't think my little paraplegic bunny friend stood a chance but she did give me the opportunity to care for something with loving intensity. I wish the ending would have been a happier one.

I looked after "my" bunny for 3 full days after rescuing her from the jaws of my cat. The bunny was screaming in fear and pain but became immediately calm when I touched her — we bonded. She was calm and trusting with me, eating dandelion leaves and drinking milk from an eye dropper. She seemed perfectly fine until I found her distressed and breathing irregularly. She died looking up at me, her mouth desperately gasping for air, seeking the kind of help I couldn't give her. I felt so helpless and sad watching her die suffering as she was. It was so unfair.

Death bugs me! No sir, I just don't like it. Yet death is assured the minute everything biological is born. The bunny left the game early, but most things stick around a while, learn a few things, pick up a few bad habits, then die either by their own will or rather reluctantly. Personally, I plan on living a long and happy life — a few more centuries should do it. Some people can't wait to leave, others are already dead but won't admit it. Should I ever stop enjoying my life, that'll be the time to go.

I felt emotional pain watching that little bunny die. Yet every day countless young animals die suffering, mauled by cats and other animals - and there's nothing I can do about it. The day before I "rescued" the bunny, I'd found a frog with it's leg torn off — maimed either by some animal or our lawn mower (oh no!). Last year we accidentally crushed a frog of the same species between our big wooden doors. Death — it's a constant. Chances are that your dinner tonight will be some type of dead animal. But that's a good death, right?

Death — That's Life!

Every day something dies. The concept doesn't bother me. What bothers me, and probably most people, is the thought of having to suffer to get there. Besides that, death rudely interrupts the social landscape because dying people leave holes that can't be covered up with wallpaper and billboards. Some of these relationships are pretty darn serious and losing an important team player halfway through a playoff game is not a pleasant experience. But that's life — er, death rather.

Sure, I believe in an afterlife, but somehow dealing with the process of death itself is what I've dreaded since childhood. No matter what side of that process I reflect upon it seems like a shitty deal. I'd always hoped that somehow I could be spared the burden of both my own death and those of my parents — well OK, my brother too. But looking around me I see that no one's getting any younger and everybody's showing signs of their mileage.

For better or worse, I don't have much real world experience with dying people — which I'm really glad about. If I was on the John Edwards "Crossing Over" show there'd be no one from "the other side" to talk to - they'd all still be here! I've been lucky so far, but many of my friends haven't escaped the spectacle of having to watch a loved one die. Many of my friends have at least one deceased parent. Others have parents who just act deceased. It can't be easy to lose a loved one. That rabbit was hard enough on me. And that's just kindergarten.


Mary's House:
Celebrating The Graduation Of A Special Soul.

A few days before the bunny incident I received word that Mary Osborne, the mother of my dear friend, Randy, had succumbed to cancer on Friday, May 23, 2003.

I hadn't seen Mary in many years. Before the cancer she also been suffering from Alzheimers for years, which robbed her of her ability to remember people. Mary's final ascent was a slow and rough one. It had been my "good intention" a few years ago to visit her but I never did get around to it. But now it's too late. Or is it?

Doubts About My Doubts

Perhaps our loving thoughts can be heard by those who've passed on as well as by the living. Emerging "double blind" scientific studies are validating the efficacy of prayer in helping the sick to either recover faster or better cope with their illnesses. And Dr. Ian Stevenson, who pioneered Near Death and Reincarnational studies at the University of Virginia, spent decades documenting that "the afterlife" is more than just a coping mechanism for facing our own mortality. So chances are that our kindness can span into all realms with positive results.

Prayer is not meant for pleading to win the lottery. It is the act of sending loving, compassionate thoughts to others. It would surely be difficult to prove it harmful. I truly believe that my own good thoughts about others reach them on some level — which also makes me concerned about the effect of my petty and negative thoughts...yikes!

As for Mary, she's all the wiser now; spending her time in the loving company of those who preceded her — I never used to believe in such things, but thankfully I've become more skeptical of my skepticism. And once Mary gets settled in, she'll probably resume her real estate career as well. I can hear her now: "This heavenly little fixer-upper is a real God-send to the handyman spirit!" She'll do well I imagine. But she'll also be checking in on Earthly matters from time to time, no doubt.

For that reason I wanted to say a few things now — real insider stuff - about the mother of my dear friend, Randy; things I should have said to her when she was still just a phone call away. I'll begin with a little history to ease "the living" into the plot:

The Boys In The Band

Randy — or "Party Oz" as I affectionately know him — is a drummer or someone who "hits things in a mathematically-structured way". We met in high school quite out of necessity since we both wanted to be famous rock stars and no one else seemed suitable. We formed a band with then-legendary guitarist and partyer extrodinaire, Doug Weir, who introduced us to Troy Smith, our token blonde Bass Adonis who also kept the local auto wreckers well-supplied with his abused automobiles. Together we formed a party that turned into a band that turned into a brotherhood that has never broken.

The band — aside from changing its name to something less evil every year, also played some really memorable gigs. For three years we played together and lived together like nomads, playing Toronto's underground punk clubs — The Upper Lip, Reflections, Larry's Hideaway, as well as biker parties and even an arena gig. We had a lot of fun and it was a great, memorable ride for all of us.

Throughout the three years I was with the band, we rehearsed at Mary Osborne's house. It helped that Randy was her son, but I sense that Mary was the type of person who would have let us practice there anyway.

Occasionally Mary would say to us — and always in a good-natured way: "Why don't you fellows go and get to your own homes?" That was usually after 2 or three of us were there for, oh, maybe a week, eating and sleeping there, and hanging out with Randy, or by ourselves. Often we would just be there alone, and that was OK with Mary, too. I'm awestruck by it now; what a generous soul she had been to us when we needed her!

The thing that Mary now knows (and which I'll have to explain to the living) is that Mary's House was our HOME. At Mary's House we belonged. It was our oasis — our sheltered little island away from all the garbage that was piling up outside those protective walls within which we lived, laughed and even rehearsed a few songs. The band was our only real interest in life — well, besides girls and partying. Mary's House was our "head office"; it was our party central headquarters, and a welcome breath of fresh air in our otherwise bewildered young adult lives.

Mary put up with all of it — and all of us! Sometimes we had parties there with 20 people smoking — yes, that too! — and drinking whatever got us to the state of mind we were hoping to arrive at. There was a lot of crazy stuff that went on there; a lot of wild "I can't believe this is happening!" kinda pleasurable insanity and fun, and not a single minute of it would have been possible if not for the grace of Mary Osborne and her acceptance of her son, his friends, and our wild, untamed ways.

Those three years represent my happiest days while growing up. Those fond memories are what still bond Randy, Doug, Troy and I together like cosmic super glue. We can't forget those days and we'll never want to. You can't write that kind of a script. It was magical — our own private Disneyworld. And when we see each other nowadays, or speak on the phone, its like a family reunion. And not a single minute of it would have happened like it did if not for the kind, tolerant and generous heart of Mary Osborne.

At a time of life when many of our parents were behaving more like villains than care givers, here was a woman — a virtual stranger — who allowed so many young people to enjoy life a little more by making room for them in her home. Her good-natured acceptance of our little "rock n' roll all-star world" made others comment on how "cool" she was. Teenagers weren't used to witnessing such leniency and leverage in a parent; they weren't expecting to be welcomed, and yet they always were. I don't think anyone who visited "Mary's" will ever forget it.

A Perfect Sense Of Timing

Whether she ever knew this or not, Mary served a lot of young people by allowing her son to follow his musical ambitions. Anyone who passed through her home found an air of acceptance, unstifled by control issues and nonsensical authoritarian head games. Mary Osborne was the right person at the right time at the right house. She left an indelible impression on my heart for being so accepting and tolerant when most parents would have been shrieking and throwing up fences. I don't recall ever seeing Mary lose her temper, never. What an angel she was. Or is...

I learned a lot at Mary's House; there was much joy and pain there for me as a young man growing up and trying to live my dreams. It's hard to imagine a better boost for my early life than to have been a guest at Mary's home, and playing with her son in a band. Mary was a surrogate mother to most of us, and a really cool aunt to everyone. And although she may not have known all that went on under her roof — she certainly does now: Yeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaw!

Way to go, Mary! That's the spirit! Thank you for helping to bring so much more life into my earlier years! You were a true gift to many. You've deserved your front row seat — and our applause.

Oh, and Mary — one more thing. I don't know what your situation is where you are now, but I hope you have lots of extra room cause someday, eventually, me n' the boys are gonna have to start rehearsing again. See you then.

With love, respect, and a thousand hugs and thank you's,
Roland Kriewaldt (on behalf of myself and the band)


(I'd also like to sent my love to Paloma, in Mexico, whose mother, Lola, passed the day after Mary died — perhaps those gals are spiritual team mates?)


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