A Digital Death

A digital friend died yesterday. Someone I've known for quite some time (in Internet years) and with whom I spent many hours discussing philosophy and religion and power politics and writing and a thousand other topics signed off yesterday at 18:04 on 18.04 - that is surely intentional on his part. He had announced his impending suicide since at least December of last year, and as I came to realize that this was not just a typical cynical joke on his part, I spent more and more time trying to persuade him to get help. Or maybe it was indeed all an elaborate joke on me, who knows.

Because for someone that I only know digitally, I can't tell the difference between a digital death and a physical one. Someone who only uses a "nick" online and is very careful - as my friend was - to not disclose identifying details, essentially dies online when the nick is no longer used.

I have made many digital friends over the years - my first contact with the Usenet was in 1991. Some people I never met. Some people I did meet. For many, the contact drifted off as we wrote each other more and more seldom. One friend calls occasionally, out of the blue, and we speak for a while. He sometimes writes comments on this blog (Hi Tex!). We even met once IRL, "in real life", as it is called. Some people I have not only met IRL but we are good friends to this day.

So what's the difference with yesterday? We could have just had a blistering fight and my friend stormed out of the chat room, never to return. He's done that before, and returned. Well, I tried contacting his email account this morning - and got an immediate delivery failure. Okay, stuff like that happens. But the seriousness of his discussions these past weeks, and his descriptions of what exactly he was planning, worked out to the last detail give me cause to worry.

I have a strange sense that this is not a joke, but indeed a death both digital and physical. Rest in peace, my friend. I miss you.

I should have stopped for coffee

I was on my way from Sweden to Hanover on Sunday, as I was giving a workshop there Monday morning. I had calculated the time needed as 6 1/2 hours using Google Maps (advice: don't. They seem to take a speed of 120 km/h, even in 80 km/h zones or through town) and was now with an estimated time of trip around 8 1/2 hours.

I drove past the exit where we get off to go visit my mother-in-law. I debated turning off and getting her to make me a cup of coffee. But I would like to call first, and she never hears the phone, and she'll be irritated that I didn't call so she could make a cake, and anyway, we're visiting next weekend. So I drove by.

Monday evening we got a call - the neighbor had found her passed out in her bedroom that morning. They took her to the hospital, where it was determined that she had suffered a massive stroke Sunday evening. She died without regaining consciousness this afternoon, three years and three months after her husband.

I wish now that I had stopped for coffee.

She celebrated her 80th birthday this spring - I'm so happy her friends and family came for that. We'll soon be meeting again in the village pub, this time to remember her, and to give thanks for her life.

An Untimely Death

I was just stopping by the office to pick something up when one of the secretaries approached me. She had just had a call that had shaken her up. Our young colleague, Prof. Q., was found dead this morning.

I thought I had not heard right - Q just turned 40, was quite the shooting star. He was a prolific researcher, a crack in his field, loved by the students. He was active as a member of the faculty board, even if he was the quiet type. He didn't run around making politics, but quietly made very good suggestions after studying all sides of the matter. He was athletic, jogged a lot, was going to run the marathon last Sunday. How could he be dead?

We don't know what happened. All we know is that he died sometime between Friday and today, he lived alone. He had not taught his class Monday night, which was unusual for him, but we didn't hear about that until this morning.

The day took a sudden, lurching turn. There were all sorts of things to be organized and people to be informed. People were shocked and sad - how do we react to this, how can we give people a chance to mourn at work?

We decided to have a candle and a flower at his chair at the next faculty board, and of course will have a notice in the paper. We had to quickly organize teachers - the semester started yesterday. Where to find new teachers for 4 courses at the drop of a hat? Everyone pulled together and amazingly, it looks like we have people willing to jump in and take over his classes.

We will still have to deal with things like his email and web page. We can put a death notice on the web page, but what do you do with the email? Send out a bounce "Sorry, I won't be able to answer because I'm dead."? Will someone have to answer his emails? What about his thesis students?

His death reminds us all that our life on earth is finite. The end can come at any time. The Bible reminds us of this:

"Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away" [James 4:14].

We need to learn to quit worrying about tomorrow - that may never come. We need to deal with today and enjoy the blessings of each day, even the smallest things.

Stealing from the Mourners

We had a ceremony at the grave of our adopted son's birth mother today. She died 12 years ago, but we only recently met the birth family and have together put a stone on the grave. The entire family - for the most part, the folks who were at the May Day party - gathered for some lamb before driving out to the cemetery, even though it is Ramadan. It seems there is special dispensation for celebrating death.

We were a little convoy of four cars, me leading the way. It sure is difficult making sure that all the cars stay together, and I seemed to hit all of the yellow lights in town. It was a good 20 mile drive, the Muslim cemetery is out in the boonies. We parked the cars, and I am positive that I locked the car. I am obsessive about locking the car, even if I am only getting out to put in a letter. And more than one person remembered me locking the car, waiting until a cousin had gotten something out of the back of the car for her little boy.

The ceremony itself was interesting - everyone dipped their fingers in the earth of the grave, the little kids hands were dipped for them. My son's birth-aunt gave the wailing plaint I have now heard many times out at the cemetary, and then she lit two cigarettes - she put one down with the butt in the earth for her sister to smoke, and she smoked one herself.

Meanwhile some of the 23 people (one of the kids was counting) went off to look for the other family graves that are in this cemetery. When they came back, some of the kids helped "give the grandmother a drink of water" - watering the plants, wiping down the stone, and then everyone kissing the stone before they left.

I was deep in conversation with one of the cousins when it began to pour - I excused myself so I could go open the car for my passengers - and was irritated that they were already in the car. We pulled out, and at the light the cousin turned to dig for her purse to get out the train times - she was leaving with her kid for a week's trip to visit other family. But she had no purse.

Okay, it is criminal to leave a purse in a car in Berlin. But at a cemetary out in the boonies? We pulled off at the next parking space and she dug though the car - nothing. We called the other cars - did they happen to have her purse and her bag with her clothes? The baby bag was luckily still in the car. No luck. We called back home, two cousins were guarding the food. No, they had not seen the purse.

We drove back anyway, just in case she had not taken the bags with her. We turned the place upside down - no purse or bag. So while the major part of the party dug into the food, we drove back out to the cemetery with the cousin. We looked all around the woods, drove in both directions to parking areas, looking for ditched bags. Let the thieves have the money, but the clothes and the identity card were the most important. As an asylum seeker she has to have written permission to leave the city, and she had gotten this for the week visiting the cousin.

No luck. We found a lot of garbage, but no suitcase. So we drove to the nearest police station. The policeman was very nice, he inspected the car for traces of entering, but couldn't find anything. He took down all the information, and let the cousin call the debit card place to have her card stopped - with the card and her ID card, pretty much any woman could get up to the limit of money. He said that they get a lot of cars broken into out at the cemetery. It's wierd, 'cause the place is so deserted. But apparently, they find their mark, break in, and are off in their own car in a flash.

We drove back to the party, but they had all disbanded. There was still a lot of food left, so we got some warmed up and had just sat down to some food when my son's girlfriend came over. "Can I have the car keys?" "Why?" "I want to get my purse out of the car."

SCREAM! Teenagers! We spent all this time and nerves talking about a purse being stolen out of the car, and she doesn't think about her own purse until 4 hours later? I ask her why on earth she does not take her purse with her. "I thought it would be safe in a locked car."

I decided to eat first, breakfast had been at 9, and except for a bit of the lamb at 12 I hadn't seen food nor drink for a while. The lamb was great, even warmed over. Another cousin kept bringing dish after dish after dish of food - I honestly don't know where they keep this all! I was stuffed, then we gathered people together and headed off to another police station to add the third bag to the list. As we get out of the car at the police station, the girlfriend remembers that she left her coat back at the place we were celebrating...... I want to surgically attach her things to her!

But of course, we can't extend the list at this station, our options were: drive 20 miles back out to where we were this afternoon, or send them a letter or fax. I opted for the latter. I don't suppose we'll ever see any of the stuff again. I hope the thieves get caught using the EC card. And that their teeth fall out and that they get a mysterious itching rash in hard-to-reach places and that they get bit by a dog. Stealing is bad enough, but stealing from mourners - there must be a special place in hell for these criminals.

Update: The cops called a few weeks later. Both the purse and the suitcase turned up, sans money and valuables. But the clothes were still there. They had been dumped at the cemetery, we just hadn't looked hard enough, I suppose.

The last walk

We buried my father-in-law's ashes today.

It was a short ceremony - too short, in my eyes, not much more than a Bible verse in the nave of the church, a prayer and the Lord's Prayer at the grave.

It was rather a shock to enter the nave - the steel urn was on a table with no flowers, very different from the funeral we had a month ago. The flowers we had ordered were not delivered. My mother-in-law was sad, my sister-in-law furious, as she had called a few days ago to remind them of the date.

After the Bible verse the - what do you call him, urn carrier? Pall bearer seems not fitting - with his funny hat stood in front of the urn in a posture of prayer. I wondered if he does, indeed pray, or if he just waits to give the impression of prayer. He then picked up the urn, and we all sort of fell in behind him for that last walk together, in no particular order other than my mother-in-law behind the urn with the pastor.

At the grave they didn't even wait until everyone was there, apparently there was another funeral or something coming up soon. The urn carrier tugged at two little knobs on either side of the urn that released strings so that he could lower the urn into the grave.

The pastor gave his prayer and after the Lord's Prayer he spoke the "ashes-to-ashes" formula. In Germany then everyone lines up and throws three scoops of earth into the grave, as well as flowers. I cut some flowers from the garden this morning and took an apple branch from his beloved apple trees. They admonished us not to put anything non-organic into the the grave, but WiseMan palmed his union badge and a coin from his Euro collection and dropped it in quietly during his turn. I found that very fitting.

We were all standing there then, trying to settle ourselves, when we realized that the rest of the company had disappeared - the funeral director, the urn carrier, the pastor were all gone. We had questions, and no one was available.

So there was nothing else to do but drive home and have some great plumcake and almond cake baked by an aunt. After cake a bottle of homebrew quince liquor was brought out - I had to drive back to Berlin, so none for me.

When I went to collect my son I figured he would be climbing trees with his cousin (both in their suits). But no, both boys (the cousin will turn teenager next week) were sitting in the sun in chairs, talking! Looks like they are growing up.

The flower people hemmed and hawed (they just plain forgot to deliver the flowers) and drove the flowers out after the ceremony, lot of good that does us now. I stopped on the way back to Berlin to at least get a picture of it.

Life goes on

It is amazing, the amount of work that needs done when someone dies. It is also amazing that it is possible to get it all done despite being sad. There is an enormous industry out there, ready to help, and it is indeed a help to have someone else sort out and organize all of the bits and pieces.

And still there is so much to decide. You always have this nagging feeling you are doing something wrong or are forgetting something very important. But taking care of some of the tasks are actually very helpful in coming to terms with the death. Speaking with the pastor for over an hour about the life and times of the deceased helps remember the good times and not these past few years of pain.

The day of the funeral was overcast and rainy - perfect weather, if you will. We got to the church a bit too early - luckily, as we got one of the last parking places. The church was packed! We stayed in the car until just before the begin so that we could be ushered in last. There was the casket we had picked out, you imagined father-in-law's body in there wearing the clothes we sent for him. I put down a basket of apples I had picked in his garden that morning. There were so many floral arrangements - in a way a shame to have had people spend so much money for flowers for just an hour, but they looked very good indeed.

The grandsons looked so grown up in their suits as they stood amongst us. My son decided at 9am (the funeral was at 11) that he would prefer to have a suit and not jeans for the funeral. We dashed to the clothing store the next village over - and wouldn't you know his luck, they had one suit in 46, a bit too big for him, but it looked very smart just the same.

We took our seats and the pastor commenced the ceremonies. There was organ music, a singer, we sang 2 songs, there was a long eulogy (very well done and just a few minor details wrong) and a prayer before the blessing. The hard part was saying goodbye, standing before the casket. We finally followed the preacher down the aisle, and then everyone streamed out to offer their condolences. It took a very long time because there were so many people, and it was really good to see all of these people taking the time to come. He was really a good friend, relative, neighbor, and had touched many lives.

They had us go down to the plot so that they could remove the casket, the pallbearers wearing two-cornered felt hats. They had laid out the flowers in the rain at the grave site, so that we could have another look. We lingered, not wanting to leave, but our guests were waiting in the village pub where we invited any who wanted to come to have sandwiches and cake and coffee with us.

More than 70 people came, luckily the owner of the pub had no problems getting more sandwiches made at the drop of a hat. After eating everyone got a schnapps (we even let the grandsons have a "Baileys", which is very sweet, even though they are not of drinking age). My mother-in-law managed to propose a short toast, and we all drank to the memory of my father-in-law.

Soon after the guests began to leave. Soon just the closest family were left. We didn't really want to go back to the house where my father-in-law had died, but the servers had cleaned up everything but where we were sitting, so we picked up the leftovers and trudged up the road in the rain.

But somehow, now that the funeral was over, we found that we really could carry on. We sat at the table planning the internment of the urn and reading all of the letters people wrote. If you hear of some one dying, please, by all means, send the bereaved a letter. It was such a comfort to read all these cards, some with really great messages, some just signed. My mother-in-law has read and reread them many times already.

Life goes on - back in Berlin we discover we forgot to cancel all sorts of planned activities, oh well, this is survivable too. Back to work!

Requiescat in pace

My father-in-law passed away peacefully this afternoon.

The nurse wasn't able to dress him this morning, he just stayed in bed. Couldn't eat, couldn't drink, couldn't take his medicine. He died holding my mother-in-law's hands.

Even though we knew he was dying, even though he is now free of his pain, it is still unbelievably sad to have him pass on. Not only because we become aware of now becoming the "oldest generation", but because we will miss him, terribly.

One couldn't ask for a better father-in-law. He welcomed me openly and honestly the very first time I came to visit as the new girlfriend. He would do anything for you, and was always interested in what I was doing. He was proud of all that I accomplished. I managed to get a copy of the German magazine "Focus" last Sunday for him. He couldn't really read it, but I read it to him. It was actually just a crappy advertisment-masquarading-as-article for some software with a quote from me that was not exactly what I said (it never is) and didn't really fit. But they published a nice, three-year-old picture of me with students, and he liked that.

He meant a lot to me, and I loved his presents of things from his garden. He liked to work in the garden, puttering around and doing stuff. In the summer and fall I always left with bags of apples and potatoes, berries and tomatoes, whatever was just ripe in the garden.

He was a worry-wort, always concerned about things that might go wrong. He worked as a tool-and-die maker, worked hard all his life. He was very creative, was often making things at work in the shop, little tools that were very effective for particular jobs. He probably should have applied for patents on much of this stuff, but he didn't feel they were very high-tech. Just something to get the job done. Nothing to write home about, he felt.

He spoke Low German with his wife and siblings, but was always particular to be speaking High German with us. He would sometimes translate something my mother-in-law was saying, as she usually spoke with a lot of Low German words. In a way that was a shame - I would have liked to learn to speak Low German, although I can understand a good bit of it by now.

He loved sports, any kind of sports. I think the World Cup in soccer and the European Championships in track and field kept him going. He could at least still listen to the results on the TV. He used to turn the radio off if they were giving soccer results before the Sportschau, as that would ruin his excitement when watching it. He liked St. Pauli and VfB Lübeck soccer teams. The two played together in Lübeck the week before he died, with VfB Lübeck winning. His sister went to the game and called to tell him about it.

We'll miss you, Opa. I hope you get a good seat in heaven with lots of good soccer to watch.