An Ode to Hank Williams and Immortality

It's been a rough couple of days. My car went on the fritz Wednesday evening, and after $1200 worth of repairs, I got it back yesterday afternoon. Couple that with the fact that I woke up sick with a head cold on Friday morning, and you'll see why I'm less than pleased with this weekend. Getting sick sure will throw a wrench in all your plans. I'd hoped to catch up on laundry, clean the house and do some yard work this weekend. And instead my biggest accomplishment has been getting dressed in the morning.

I will say this though, being sick does afford me with plenty of thinking time. I've spent most of it sitting in front of the bunny cage, mindlessly petting Widget and Poppet, but I've also been thinking a lot about Hank Williams.

Who was Hank Williams? He was a country music star that died at 29 on January 1, 1953. On Thursday night I saw a production at the Persephone Theatre in Saskatoon called The Last Show of Hank Williams. It was a play/musical recreating the last show Hank Williams was supposed to do, but never showed for. He was discovered dead the next morning, the circumstances of which you can read by following the link above.

Anyway, you're probably wondering why I was still thinking about Hank Williams. Well, first of all, the show was really good. But secondly, it really got me thinking about mortality and how easily life can just slip away. I'm not a religious person, I don't know if I believe in God or in any kind of afterlife. Frankly, I sometimes find the idea of an afterlife to be terrifying. But I do believe that there are ways we'll all live forever. Maybe it's in the way our bodies eventually get recycled into new living things, or maybe it's in the things we leave behind.

All we really want to do is create something that lasts, something meaningful that people will remember. I think that's why a lot of people have kids. They are creating a legacy, putting all their love, all their passion, into something beautiful that can live on after they're gone. Hank Williams wanted to create music, songs that people would remember and listen to long after he was gone. It's part of the reason why I write. We all want to be immortal, and in a way, Hank Williams is. His songs are way before my time, but on Friday night I found myself tapping my toe and clapping along to the music. I found him in my thoughts days later. Hank Williams died tragically far too young, but he did attain his dream. Almost sixty years later, people are still singing his songs. And that's pretty amazing.

Perhaps it's just my head cold and the reduced amount of oxygen making its way to my brain, but those are the conclusions I've come to this weekend. Life can be surprisingly short. Despite the plans we make, life (and death) can always throw a wrench in them. So why not live for today, why not contribute things we can be proud of? Because no one actually knows what's waiting for us on the other side, the only thing we can be sure of is what we're leaving behind. What do you want to leave behind? I want to leave my writing, and a tombstone that says 'Buried Alive'. (Because who doesn't want to prank people long after they're gone?)

The Questions of Mortality

I'm not someone that often ponders the bigger questions in life. I don't like it when things get deep, or spiritual. But every once in a while, I - like all people - am struck by my own mortality. Something will happen to remind me that I'm mortal, as are all those I love, and one day we will all die.

Generally, when these questions arise, I do all I can to push them away. Denial, denial, denial. That's my way. Why? Because there are no answers to those big questions. Where do we go? What happens to us when we die? There is no definitive way of knowing what happens until our own time comes, and I'd rather not think about it. I don't want to think about the possibilities, or the lack thereof. It's depressing, terrifying and sometimes rather nauseating. I like to think that I'll see all my loved ones again, that we'll meet again on the other side. Is it wishful thinking? Yes, and possibly no. I don't know.

Recent events have reminded me of all these questions, questions I'd rather shove to the bottom of a pit inside me. There are those that say death makes them feel more alive, but for me I only become intensely aware of my own mortality, and the mortality of those I love. I don't ever want to lose those closest to me, and yet I know that some day I will. It's a hard realization to swallow, despite my having known it all along.

I guess that's why they say you should live each day as though it were your last, never take the people and time you have for granted. This is very true, and I try to take it to heart, but I'd rather enjoy my loved ones without the morbid cloud of doom. And so, I return to my favourite coping mechanism. Denial. Denial. Denial. Perhaps it's not the best method, but it's mine.