Ivan at 73

Went to Ivan's funeral mass yesterday morning at 10:00. He was only 73.

73 is not enough. Life is hard, and a lot of it is wasted on procrastination, self-doubt and laziness. 90 is minimally acceptable to me now; anything less and I'll feel cheated.

Ivan was cheated. He had thirteen grandkids and one great-grandkid. All ages, all sizes, boys and girls. 17 more years with them would have fleshed out his life beautifully. It is not to be.

Earlier that morning I was sitting peaceably reading when I started to hear car doors slamming and realized it was Ivan's family pulling up next door. That shit gets in your head.

There I was in complete contentment while the family next door was preparing to mourn. You can forget about reality, ignore it, pretend it doesn't exist, but it will always sit up and slap you in the face. Reality is harsh, baby, but you got to meet it head-on. (I am lecturing myself).

There were lots of older folks at the mass, so lots of thoughts of mortality, no doubt. A collective awareness of what is to come, inevitably. That made the vibe a bit heavier. We are aware of it, afraid of it, but death is out there lurking, waiting for the right moment to snatch us away. You can forget about it when you are in Market Basket, but a funeral mass brings it home with finality.

Ironically, it was a beautiful sunny, warm spring day. I kept gazing out the window and thinking what can be taken away from you, what will be taken away from you, in a heartbeat.

Asked about what he learned about life after being diagnosed with terminal cancer, Warren Zevon said "Enjoy every sandwich." Sounds a bit flippant, but it is right on. Most of us are not vacationing in Ibiza or driving a Mercedes Maybach. A good sandwich, a real conversation, quiet moments with the spouse, the beauty and magic of kids and grand-kids, a 75 degree, sun-drenched June day - these slip by unappreciated and we are stupid to do so.

Ivan and his wife Judy owned three restaurants in their lifetime; cooking and making people happy was his passion. COVID killed the last restaurant and sent Ivan and Judy into a financial tailspin. That, and health problems made the end of his life difficult. But apparently, even then he was hoping to open yet another restaurant. That is the definition of passion. Most of us settle for what we can get, which is typically far beneath what we feel we deserve. Dreams? I think that is a fantasy for the majority of us.

I didn't know Ivan well, only talked to him from time to time. Carol knew him better because they were on the board together. I barely knew his wife, she rarely made public appearances. And yet, after the service as we filed out, I wanted to console her but couldn't. I couldn't get the words out.

At 1:00 that same day I had a follow-up appointment for the prostate cancer I experienced a few years ago. The hospital always freaks me out. Walkers, crutches, wheelchairs. People my age, older and younger looking weak and vulnerable. I don't like it because it is reality. I'm not there yet and I consider myself lucky for that, but it is coming.

A funeral mass, a tour of the hospital - a lot to take in in one day.

My goal in 2026 is to meet reality head-on and beat the shit out of it. But you know me - I set lots of goals but get few results. But yesterday, I did drive with windows down and radio blasting.

That's not nothing.