DANIEL MCCLOUD

It took me a few months to write this column. The subject matter tends to be grim, but I hoped that, in some way, the article would provide me with the perspective needed when reminded of “The Great Inevitable.”

According to Scripture, when referring to death, or “The Great Inevitable,” “The days of our years are three score years and 10; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.”

Given that a score in measurement is 20 years, this verse gives us 60 years plus 10, which would put us at the ripe old age of 70, when the average person takes wing to leave this Earth. Of course, this average age does not factor in the various health disparities found in many communities of color, the cost barriers to health care access, or the deaths attributed to violence and drug use.

Still, I am reminded of this verse as a person of faith who, lately, has attended more than my share of funerals or “Homegoings” as they are more commonly known in the African American community.

In our culture, the minister often states that funerals are for the living. It is a stark reminder that, unlike taxes, we all, one day, die.

In many cultures, including for African Americans, we are taught that the death of a loved one is a cause for celebration and a time to reflect on a life well-lived for the one who has passed. We rationalize that for the deceased, it is the end of physical pain, suffering, and worry caused by sickness that usually afflicts us in the winters of our lives. It is during these times that many reflect on their mortality. We examine our own life and consider what constitutes a well-lived life. Is it a measure of monetary and material goods? Is it the people and places that we meet through daily interactions and travel? Is it the joys of marriage and raising a family?

Or is it the endless pursuit of happiness? And how do we define happiness? Is it a combination of things or the peace and contentment that can only come when you realize that perhaps our journey was never our own but a predetermined path? Or a journey of various and obvious choices and roads less traveled? And what of those moments when one decision may alter the trajectory of not just our lives but others?

As I sat at a recent homegoing, I wondered to myself, how do we absolve ourselves of the shadow of guilt that sometimes creeps into our hearts? When, despite knowing that we’ve done all we can do for the departed, the feeling that we should have done more, starts to cloud our eyes, preparing us for the tears to follow? As someone who tends to overanalyze most situations, I tried to come up with a universal set of questions that, when answered correctly, would absolve us from grief and sorrow. I told myself that if the deceased knew that we loved/liked (I use loved and liked because, let’s face it, there are all different levels of grief, depending on your relationship to the deceased and if we actually knew that they loved/liked us), then we could find peace in their journey, and comfort in our grief. But then, I realized that sometimes, the level of caring is not reciprocated, despite our best efforts to love/like someone. Sometimes, the wounds and scars are too deep, or the relationship is weak.

So what remains, other than the realization that death, in all its diverse forms, is the great equalizer? It comes as a thief in the night to all, regardless of race, color, gender, or political affiliation. The only question is how we deal with “The Great Inevitable.”

As I finish this article, I have just been informed that a friend has died. We were not particularly close, but we were always cordial. I asked myself if that person knew I cared about their well-being, and I felt they cared fo mine. I thought for a minute and answered yes to both questions. So, I prayed for their soul and will continue to live, counting my blessings that I remain among the living. Believing, as a person of faith, I will see them again.