i got the call last night, from a private client, one who shall remain, for reasons soon clear, not only nameless, but absent any identifying detail.  i take his calls any time, any place, as my service to him is the essence of time-sensitive.

‘mom isn’t doing well,’ he said. ‘she’s lost a lot of weight.’

‘what are your holiday travel plans?’ he asked.

i assured him that no matter where i was in the coming ten days, i’d fly back to atlanta the moment he needed me to. 

maybe often, maybe always, life only makes sense in hindsight; i can see now that much of mine has readied me for his phone call. i spent a couple of decades leading a community, recognizing the unique gifts of its members, helping to tell its collective stories, serving as its public face and voice, sharing its triumphs and heartbreaks, and marking its passings. life with my late, first partner was a twenty two year lesson in the impossible/essential act of facing mortality. to the extent one can be (which, increasingly, i believe is not much at all), i am good with grief.

so it is that i find myself, rarely but crucially, an obituarist and eulogist for hire. a family tells me the stories of  its absent loved one, then i stand at the center of their circle to relay what i’ve learned. i came to this uncommon task in roundabout ways; people find solace in the process and its product. it requires discretion, compassion, eloquence, close listening, attention to detail, and optimism. i’m compensated fairly and confident the work has great value. i don’t talk about it much. i keep a good dark suit and white shirt pressed and ready.

the only example of this work i feel comfortable sharing is this one, for it’s the only one i truly own. otherwise all of it, even the notes i take, belong with and to the family.

‘how can i best be ready for the end?’ is not a question; it’s the question, unspoken, under all we do and are, as a person, as a people.   ‘to what will it all amount?’

my best answer (which is only okay) involves the handsome, dilapidated house seen here on google street view:

it’s called the ‘taylor house’ and it’s on west end boulevard, up in winston-salem. jb and i have driven past it once. we’ve never been inside. yet i spent yesterday afternoon wandering, here through our atlanta neighborhood, snapping pictures of similar houses, trying to figure out what color to paint the taylor house. here’s a link to that (unedited) album, just pictures of houses, paint, and a pleasant afternoon walk. next time, as i tell the story of the taylor house, i’ll try to bring all this around full circle.

till soon.