Death and Hope

You know how things come in threes?  Death, they say, comes in threes… And I’ve been wondering who the three would be for me following the death of Paul Newman who I admired my whole life.   I’m getting to an age where the number of dead people I know is going up in proportion to the number of new people I know being born.  In fact there is a definite deficit because most of the thirty somethings I know who should have been reproducing by now are postponing parenthood until who knows when?

Anyway, so Paul Newman dies and I cry thinking of Joann Woodward and the many years of great marriage they shared.  And I cry for the whole body of work he has left to us from Cool Hand Luke,  Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,  The Hustler, and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid to the Newman’s Own products he sold to benefit children’s charity projects.  I cry to celebrate his life and give thanks for enriching mine.

And then I hear through the grapevine that Father Butch, a Russian River Sister (Brother) of Perpetual Indulgence is on his death bed in a coma with little hope of recovery.  Father Butch was thoughtful, funny, and strong -  the kind of man you would look to for comfort.  He was the natural father of three and a big gay bear father to whoever needed him for advice or a good laugh.  We shared many jokes and he was always kind to me.    He and his fellow sisters raised thousands of dollars for local Russian River charities including 4-H, the volunteer fire department, and Face to Face AIDS charities.  So, I guess this is my number two I think as I cry again for the loss of this wonderful man.

And then I hear about Barack Obama’s grandmother who raised her African American grandson to become the next president of the United States .  Although I don’t know much about her I think she must have been instrumental in helping Barack become the man he is today.  This has been a long campaign and even though he knows she has been ill, he doesn’t need this significant loss at this time.  So, I cry again this time for Barack.

All of these people: Paul Newman, Father Butch, and Tutu Dunham had something greater than themselves to give to others.  All were generous, caring, loving humans who will be missed on this earth.  I can just see them meeting in the here after.  What an oddly perfect trio of personalities and humanity. I’m sure they’ve shared a hug and a laugh or two and a prayer for the hope of the future of the country and the world.

My first thought was, “Now they can’t vote for Obama,” or “If they voted early, does it count?”  I ring the bell that I keep at the entry in front of a statue of Quan Yin, the Chinese goddess of mercy.  I ring it for Paul and Joann, I ring it for Father Butch and his sisters and children, I ring it for Tutu Dunham and her grandson, Barack.  I ring it for our country and for the world.  I light three sticks of incense.  Their fragrance burns down to the quick leaving a trail of my prayers in smoke and ash.

Namu Amida Butsu.
Namu Amida Butsu.
Namu Amida Butsu.