The Immortality of Junk Mail

It’s a good thing to work on improving yourself, in my opinion. If you are of the, “I want to be a better person” persuasion – and I like to believe most of us do think and feel that way – life will knock you around in ways from which you learn how to be and do better.

Of course you can also make conscious efforts to become a better person: you can meditate, pray, practice a spiritual discipline or rule of life, read books looking for tools you can use to live a better life, go to therapy to get a different point of view than the one you have, go to support groups, develop an “attitude of gratitude,” talk and laugh with friends about life, hang around people you respect and look up to, express yourself through your art, and more things I can’t think of right now.

You can ask for help. That’s a new one on my list. All my life I tried to do it all myself, a trait that sometimes drove my husband up the wall, but now I am old enough and physically weak enough and mentally aware enough that when faced with a problem the third or fourth thing I think is, “I can ask for help.” Usually the asking is rewarded with help.
Who knew?

When real change comes – and I don’t mean a change in the person you are, because I believe you remain the same person throughout your life, brain injuries or other traumatic events aside - you feel it as an inward melting of old attitudes and beliefs, and you recognize new growth and new ways of being. That’s how Jesus got me – I sort of melted into belief. Well, what do you want? There are no rational arguments to make you believe in Jesus. That’s why it’s called faith.

So. I was somewhat surprised by an inward melting as I was driving home on I-5 a few weeks ago.

Sick with a cold and heading for home as fast as I could, I realized that I have reached a new phase of feeling regarding my late husband Rick.

Rick is simply a part of me now and the initial pain caused by his passing is pretty much over. I’m not saying that I have no pain or sorrow. I will never stop feeling sad that Rick died. I will always miss him, every day, and wish we’d had more time together. I will always think of things I wish I’d done better, or times I wish I’d been kinder.

The other day I was listening to a recording of, “Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da,” the Beatles song, and singing along and remembering all the times Rick and I sang that, and I felt deeply sad that we’ll never sing it together again.

 So it’s still hard sometimes, but my heart is finally making peace with the reality of what is. Rick is gone. He is not resting, or pining for the fjords. He has passed on, he is no more, he has ceased to be. He has gone to meet his maker. He is an ex-human.

I think you get my drift.

Even though his physical form is no longer with us, though, there are some forms of immortality.

Apparently people who send out junk mail never update their mailing lists. That’s why Rick still receives offers for cheaper car insurance, as well as offers for credit cards.

Recently he received a VFW mailing that said, “Time to renew your membership! Second notice!”
I crossed out his name and address, wrote “DECEASED” and “Return to Sender” on the envelope in big red letters, and stuck it in my mailbox and put the flag up.

My son JD happened to be with me that day. I told him what I was doing, and how when we die we still get junk mail.
Then an old memory awoke in my mind, and I said to JD, “Come to think of it, a few years ago I did pay for a lifetime membership in the VFW for Rick. So I suppose in a manner of speaking, it is time to renew.”

Yep. Definitely into a new phase, and one that Rick would really enjoy.