I don't know a lot about Art, though I did read about him in my earlier years. I remembered him as writing humorous articles. Only today, I read in the newspaper that he has moved on. Curiosity made me to a search, and just reading a short brief on his life, showed me a man who lived a very fulfilled life. Ethel Kennedy said that heaven is a much better place because he is bringing along his humor along. Isn't this a great eulogy?
Few will have such publicised eulogy, and fewer even remember our days on earth. It does not matter at all. What is more important are the few closed people around us who will remember us as the sweetest person ever touching their lives.
My aunt in law just passed away in solitude. She was only discovered a few days later. In the tropics, where the heat accelerates decomposition, it was not a good sight nor the stench bearable.
My family received a call on the weekend, and immediately we made plan to drive back to "accompany her on her last journey from this earth." My wife who was close to her dare not see her, as the description given did frighten her. For me, it is just another phenomenon. I took a last glimpse at her. I could not recognize her due to the bloating of the face, in particular the tongue. She looked peaceful. She had been a recluse, and interestingly, old people have difficulty living with others. They seem to want their own space.
My wife recalled the kindness of her younger days when her family was in economic poverty. It was she who helped at that time. Such kindness will always be repaid many times over.
I am sure Art's life was the same. He had brought laughter to so many, and though they are sad, they are happy that he left behind so many legacy.
I share an interview taken from USA TODAY (copyright of USA Today) and reproduced part of it below. I am sure you have your own opinions about life, and why not Art?
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Death.
In an interview Thursday with USA TODAY, Buchwald:
• Declares he'll never miss "the hypocrisy of our government, the lying of our politicians" or any sports teams.
• Speculates on the hereafter, saying, "I have no idea where I'm going but here's the real question: What am I doing here in the first place?"
He doesn't invest a lot of time contemplating the afterlife. It's not a Jewish thing, he says. He hews to the fundamental Torah teaching that "It's what you do on earth and the good deeds you do on earth that are important."
"I think I don't believe in any of the gods they are shoving down my throat. I hate the organized religions that are telling me what God wants," he says of people who write him preachy letters on how to ensure a place in eternity.
Buchwald is well aware that it's easier to be a model of dying with good cheer if you have what many do not: access to excellent care and the resources to pay for it; supportive and loving family and friends; a bed at a place where visitors are welcome 24/7. His most recent column urged people to name a surrogate to speak for their health care decisions.
"People are very interested in these questions for themselves and you can do some good with these comments. Can't say enough good things about hospice. They make dying dignified," he says.
It's all delivered with the bluntness of a New York boy who spent his early childhood in an orphanage, who experienced divorce and two bouts of deep depression.
His choice to end dialysis "wasn't easy" he says, and it took him more than a week to convince his three children. "Your kids don't want you to die. But it was my wish, and they came around."
Since he began speaking out about death — and living long past expectations — he's received 2,000 letters, most supportive, many lovely odes to his work. A few letters, though, come from people on dialysis. They want him to stop describing the treatment as such a foreboding option and share how dialysis helps them live on and live well.
To them, Buchwald says simply, "You're right." Had he not been 80 and "embittered" about having had his right leg amputed below the knee this winter, he might have made a different decision, he says. Still, "I don't care who you are, you're gonna die."
Just not yet. "I have death on hold," he jokes, as son Joel takes Corbin home and a longtime friend, TV newsman Mike Wallace, pulls up in a taxi that can't find a place to park.
People likely will know when Buchwald finds his final parking spot. From somewhere unseen will come the sound of laughter.
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May your life be filled with the sound of laughter and all you do, you do it because you love doing it and benefitting those around you.
Few will have such publicised eulogy, and fewer even remember our days on earth. It does not matter at all. What is more important are the few closed people around us who will remember us as the sweetest person ever touching their lives.
My aunt in law just passed away in solitude. She was only discovered a few days later. In the tropics, where the heat accelerates decomposition, it was not a good sight nor the stench bearable.
My family received a call on the weekend, and immediately we made plan to drive back to "accompany her on her last journey from this earth." My wife who was close to her dare not see her, as the description given did frighten her. For me, it is just another phenomenon. I took a last glimpse at her. I could not recognize her due to the bloating of the face, in particular the tongue. She looked peaceful. She had been a recluse, and interestingly, old people have difficulty living with others. They seem to want their own space.
My wife recalled the kindness of her younger days when her family was in economic poverty. It was she who helped at that time. Such kindness will always be repaid many times over.
I am sure Art's life was the same. He had brought laughter to so many, and though they are sad, they are happy that he left behind so many legacy.
I share an interview taken from USA TODAY (copyright of USA Today) and reproduced part of it below. I am sure you have your own opinions about life, and why not Art?
---------------------------------------------
Death.
In an interview Thursday with USA TODAY, Buchwald:
• Declares he'll never miss "the hypocrisy of our government, the lying of our politicians" or any sports teams.
• Speculates on the hereafter, saying, "I have no idea where I'm going but here's the real question: What am I doing here in the first place?"
He doesn't invest a lot of time contemplating the afterlife. It's not a Jewish thing, he says. He hews to the fundamental Torah teaching that "It's what you do on earth and the good deeds you do on earth that are important."
"I think I don't believe in any of the gods they are shoving down my throat. I hate the organized religions that are telling me what God wants," he says of people who write him preachy letters on how to ensure a place in eternity.
Buchwald is well aware that it's easier to be a model of dying with good cheer if you have what many do not: access to excellent care and the resources to pay for it; supportive and loving family and friends; a bed at a place where visitors are welcome 24/7. His most recent column urged people to name a surrogate to speak for their health care decisions.
"People are very interested in these questions for themselves and you can do some good with these comments. Can't say enough good things about hospice. They make dying dignified," he says.
It's all delivered with the bluntness of a New York boy who spent his early childhood in an orphanage, who experienced divorce and two bouts of deep depression.
His choice to end dialysis "wasn't easy" he says, and it took him more than a week to convince his three children. "Your kids don't want you to die. But it was my wish, and they came around."
Since he began speaking out about death — and living long past expectations — he's received 2,000 letters, most supportive, many lovely odes to his work. A few letters, though, come from people on dialysis. They want him to stop describing the treatment as such a foreboding option and share how dialysis helps them live on and live well.
To them, Buchwald says simply, "You're right." Had he not been 80 and "embittered" about having had his right leg amputed below the knee this winter, he might have made a different decision, he says. Still, "I don't care who you are, you're gonna die."
Just not yet. "I have death on hold," he jokes, as son Joel takes Corbin home and a longtime friend, TV newsman Mike Wallace, pulls up in a taxi that can't find a place to park.
People likely will know when Buchwald finds his final parking spot. From somewhere unseen will come the sound of laughter.
---------------------------------------------
May your life be filled with the sound of laughter and all you do, you do it because you love doing it and benefitting those around you.
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