Tracey: Why do we have to die?
Nate: To make life valuable.
-Six Feet Under, Season One Finale

I have been thinking about death a lot lately. In part, this is because I’ve been obsessively watching the library’s copy of Six Feet Under, Season One. Of course, there is also my ailing and demented Grandmother nearing the end of her life on this earth. Then again, there is my neighbor three doors down who seems to have death all round her right now – a father in the emergency room, a co-worker with a suicidal brother, a friend with a father gunned downed by police. But mostly I’ve been hanging out with death because of George.

Four weeks ago George Dennison, age 59, easily finished the STP (Seattle to Portland) bike race. Two weeks George felt short of breath and was checked into the hospital with full blown lung cancer. A week ago Friday, George passed on.

I didn’t know George Dennison well. His daughter, Heather, is a good friend. One of the lovely side benefits of being friends with Heather is that I have been able to cross paths with her parents, and I’ve treasured both Elizabeth and George very much. In the wide and wonderful expanse of George’s life, the conversations we’ve had would be just a dot on a full and fascinating time line. But each short conversation was enlightening and heartening. George was one of those rare people who could inspire you in just a moment. I think this was because George paid attention. He was present to people, eager to offer something that might enhance the life of another.

One conversation I had with George was over a glass of white wine in Heather and Charlie’s backyard. George told me how he and Elizabeth took a long weekend away each year in order to evaluate their lives together. On this annual retreat they would look back over the year and find things to celebrate. Then they looked forward at the years to come and reminded each other about the things that matter to them the most. They dreamed of the years ahead of them, of the adventures they wanted to have, and of the memories they would embed in their children and grandchildren.

I was so inspired by this attentiveness, this determination to keep the first things first. I wanted, like George and Elizabeth, to be intently “sucking the marrow from the bones of life,” at every age and stage that life would offer. George and Elizabeth were the kind of couple Paul and I aspired to be when we grown up – and in spite of this early loss, they still are.

Karen Ward recently introduced me to a site called 43 Things. I love lists, so this site’s suggestion to write out 43 Things you’d like to do with you life captured my imagination. Last month, as I hid out from the sun at the Microsoft company picnic, I jotted down my list in my trusty note book.

Number 36: have an enormous funeral.

George Dennison beat me to that one. The Eucharist of the Resurrection held in his honor was standing room only. I can only say that it was fitting. I can only hope for a similar end, and a similar new beginning.

Heather and I often walk together in the mornings. It gives us time to talk over our lives – to celebrate things and worry over things and just be friends. Sometimes, we would see George as he passed us on the Burke Gilman Trail riding his bike to work. And there is another man too, who looks a lot like George, a similar grey beard extending over the chin strap of his helmet. Over these last few days, I’ve wondered what that will be like, for Heather to see George’s double now that the original is gone. Will it be too hard for Heather to have that brief moment of recognition? Will we need to change our walking routine? Or will it be somewhat welcomed, a bittersweet moment reminding her of the everydayness of having her father with her? I know this passing of the not-George will be a dramatically different experience for her than for me. But I will be grateful for these reminders of George, as I am grateful for the small gifts he gave me: hope, attentiveness, and inspiration. Godspeed, George, and shalom.