A Myth

At a given moment in time, we opem our eyes.

Suddenly we are here, and miraculously alive in an amazing space and time.

With our first breath we become inhabitants of the wonderful planet called earth and truly a human being.

Today as the grim reaper is visiting my neighborhood more frequently, I wonder why it has become a fearful thing to depart.

Especially considering how easy it was for most of us to arrive.

Despite the innumerable words of advice, counsel and spiritual resources, I don’t believe there is a human being completely at ease about leaving.

The universal fear of crossing the Styx River separating life and death is seemingly epidemic.

Yet I recall no fear about my arrival.

Do you?

And I dare to question why.

I cling to two memories, both women of another generation who befriended me, their young neighbor.

Madeline was a Parisian. She traveled to the U.S. as a companion for an American woman who hoped to improve her conversational French.

Dining at the Plaza Hotel shortly after her arrival, the young tutor was introduced to a handsome pastry chef. .Shortly afterwards, Pierre, the young man, became Madeline’s husband and father to their five children.

The kind couple befriended me throughout the 50 years we shared as neighbors.

Pierre crossed the proverbial River Styx first.

Two years later Madeline followed him.

The last word my friend spoke before closing her eyes, was “Pierre.”

I knew then he helped her board Charon’s ferry.

Florence and I became friends because of our teenaged children.

When my husband and I were introduced to Herb (her husband,) we quickly became part of their small social circle.

Our new friends were also both of an earlier generation and generously shared their Irish wisdom and Gaelic humor with our family.

One hot summer morning Herb unexpectedly left this world.

Florence survived long enough to insure their youngest son would cope with being alone.

The evening before she, too, crossed the mythical River Styx, she told her four children,

“Dad is coming tomorrow,”

and Herb did.

The definition of a myth is symbolic narrative, usually of unknown origin and at least partly traditional.

I cannot equate my experiences in life with the historical importance of a myth.

However, I know when the shadow of fear seems to grow heavier, I find comfort in my faith.

I firmly believe when it is time for me, also, to cross the mythical river, I,too, will be assisted aboard Charon’s ferry by the man I loved.