THE MAUSOLEUM

“What we think about death only matters for what death makes us think about life.”     Charles de Gaulle, French President, 1890-1970

It is a pleasant place, not at all what I expected. Instead of a dark, dusty chamber of tombs and cobwebs, sunlit hallways ablaze with gaily-colored bouquets of artificial flowers delight me. The enchanting bouquets adorn white marbled vaults set into the walls six deep from floor to ceiling. A bronze plaque, commemorating the name and dates of birth and death, identify each crypt’s resident. At the end of one of the long halls is a stained glass window depicting a cascading mountain stream pouring through a verdant meadow. The subtle scent of flowers contributes its magic to this ethereal, serene, sacred memorial to the dead. Outside, in a marbled courtyard, a family of starlings splashes merrily in a fountain.

I ask myself, who were these people? Can they teach me anything that will guide me on my journey through this life and into the next? As I inspect the vaults more closely, my eyes are naturally drawn to those that have pictures of the deceased. I learn that John Hoentlein, a handsome, crew cut lad, died two days after his twenty-third birthday in 1967. Inscribed on the nameplate of Michael Landerson are the words, “Remember the smiles. I simply wanted to make you smile.” Walking down the long corridor, I pause at Edward Wisneski’s crypt. He is smiling and playing the accordion. He lived to be seventy. Kendal Morabito, photographed at the beach as a young, handsome man, died November 25, 1984 at age twenty-five. A gold Mustang, the emblem of Cal Poly University, is affixed to his grave. Lipstick marks on the white marble surrounding his picture attest to the undying affections of a loved one. Finally, there is Kelly Deane Fry Carlson, born November 5, 1963, died January 28, 1987, age twenty-three. As I gaze at her graduation picture and her lovely, youthful face radiating vitality and spirit, I cannot help but think of the deep sorrow her untimely passing must have caused. On her plaque are the words, “We loved you so very much.”

From my walk down these halls it becomes apparent to me that death respects neither youth nor wealth. It is entirely random and democratic. Nor am I ready for it, caught up in the cares and passions of life as I am. But this place, this hallowed house of honor, forces me to stop and try to put life in perspective. Can it be that our lives are like rose buds which will blossom into fragrant flowers of eternal Spring? Or does the essence of each of us originate in the stars to which we shall soon return? Perhaps our spirits are here on a journey of discovery and evolution and we are all students in a cosmic classroom. If so, God bless you John, Michael, Edward, Ken, and Kelly. Thank you for sharing your humanity with me. Life and death are a little less mysterious and frightening now, and my spirit and courage have been refreshed and fortified.

Essay #3
January 11, 1996
San Luis Obispo, California