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The Face of Mortality
After a lengthy illness, he died peacefully in the early hours this morning, while surrounded by loved ones.
Those words rolled around inside Mason’s head as he predicts what will be broadcasted later that day.
He’s one of many gathered together inside a crowded bedroom in the house he grew up in, sharing the
same space with medicinal perfumes, IV and bodily fluids, and ‘get well’ cards that are not being adhere to.
He has seen the telltale signs of the darkening fingernails, an indication that the body is shutting down one
vital function at a time and within hours, maybe even within minutes, the most vital of all will cease to
perform. He surmises that it’s somewhat like the way one goes through the house turning off the lights,
room by room, before leaving for a dinner party. The last light to be extinguished is always the one next to
the exit.
All signs point to the foregone conclusion that years filled with close calls and false certainties are about to
come to an end for the now feeble old man with the stark white hair. This will be the day that the reining
patriarch of the Capwell family will be biding a final farewell, and from all appearances he has a sold-out
performance for this final act.
After a lengthy illness, he died peacefully in the early hours this morning, while surrounded by loved ones.
It seems to Mason like that same old phrase gets repeated whenever anyone of significance pasts away.
So until now, he never took these accounts literally. Maybe it was because the cynical side of his nature
doesn’t allowed him to take anything he reads or hears at face value. Maybe it’s because he doubted that
death would always choose the dawning of a new day to reap its crop. Maybe it was because he never
could reason a plausible explanation to how, in the middle of the night, all of the loved ones know exactly
when to surround he who was about to past. Are they given pagers? He had often wondered, like the ones
restaurants pass out to patrons to notify them when their table is ready. Capwell party of twelve, your
relation is ready to croak.
He tries to stifle the laugh summoned by the image with a weak cough, but by the uneasy looks thrown in
his direction followed by those exchanged between the gathered loved ones, he suspects that his action
didn't go undetected, leaving him feeling a bit awkward and self-conscience.
Of course this is suppose to be a somber occasion, and laughing is inappropriate. Even so, Mason feels
that a little more humor and a lot less doom and gloom would vastly improve the mood around here. He
toys with the idea of suggesting a little game of truth and dare, but the twist that he would add would be
that the truth has to be all about the man of the hour. After all, the old guy lying in the center of attention
had been hated at various times by each and everyone as much as he had been loved, sometimes the two
occurring simultaneously. There isn't a person in the room who hasn’t had havoc forced upon his or her life
due to actions that could be labeled as manipulative, controlling, careless, and even ruthless. Instead of
talking in hushed, compassionate tones; they could instead be all having a blast trying to one-up each
other with the stories that they could tell. As Joe Gideon says in All That Jazz, ‘It’s showtime Folks!’
Alas, he knows that if he makes the proposal he would be rebuffed with a ‘shut-up Mason,’ like he always
is whenever he comes up with great ideas like this. Knowing that the reproaches were coming never
stopped him before, but just this once he decides to let the party poopers have their way with no
interference from him. After all, it’s their party, let them conduct it the way that they want, he’s only here by
default anyway.
He’s nearly on the verge of sulking, when he notices the appearance of a very small girl standing in the
doorway, clutching a colorful bouncy ball in her hands. Besides the toy, she brings with her a promise for a
change in ambiance, because unlike the sour pusses already situated in the room, she’s obviously ready
for some fun. Thankfully, nobody else seems to notice her or else she’d probably be scooted away with a
quiet reminder and reprimand that the old, sick man needs his rest. Mason thinks it’s ironic that the others
believe that rest should be a prerequisite for an eternity of it.
He beckons the tot to come closer with a subtle motion of his eyes, and as she comes nearer he can make
out tiny freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her upturned nose. Baby-fine, soft, dark blond curls cascade
down to her shoulders. Her eyes are as blue as the sky and at this moment they sparkle with mischief and
delight. He has seen these eyes before but can’t recollect when or where. Recognition and familiarity
continues to nag at him, however he’s unable to place whose child she is. That’s understandable since
with so many relatives arriving each day, bringing along with them kids and significant others that he’s
meeting for the first time, he’s having trouble keeping the family branches untangled inside his mind.
The girl lifts up the ball higher as an invitation. “C’mon, let’s go out to play,” she implore. “We’ll have fun, I
promise.”
The girl smiles and exposes two rows of miniature white teeth that have yet been tarnished by life’s sins
and spoils. She’s so young, innocent, and sweet in contrast to the old man lying on his deathbed that the
comparison of the two evokes in Mason an overwhelming wave of remorse and regret for his part in all the
time lost because of alcoholic binges, stubbornness, insanity, and just plain foolishness.
Sensing his sadness, the child puts down the ball and gasps his hand with both of hers, and as she tugs
she once again begs, “C’mon, lets play.”
Her uninhibited eagerness rescues him from the gloomy pit of despair, and it reminds him that he had
promised himself that when this time came, there wouldn't be any misgivings, because if there’s one thing
that he has learned over the years, it’s that there’s a purpose and a reason for everything in life, and in
death.
Reassured in his own beliefs, he gently pulls the small girl closer to whisper his philosophy into her ear, “In
every single moment there is significance.”
For a few seconds the youngster wears a thoughtful expression as she processes the information, and
then she captivates him with a wide-open grin as she nods her head in agreement.
He’s relieved to finally, for the first time in his life, to be understood without further explanation or excuses.
The child picks the ball up again briefly hiding her face with it as she proudly shows him the bright colors
dyed into the plastic. As she lowers it she smiles once more, but this time the corners of her mouth just
barely turn upward.
While following her ball intently with his eyes, Mason lays his head back down upon the pillow and softly
exhales the last breath that he’ll ever take.
After a lengthy illness, he died peacefully in the early hours this morning, while surrounded by loved ones.
Those words rolled around inside Mason’s head as he predicts what will be broadcasted later that day.
He’s one of many gathered together inside a crowded bedroom in the house he grew up in, sharing the
same space with medicinal perfumes, IV and bodily fluids, and ‘get well’ cards that are not being adhere to.
He has seen the telltale signs of the darkening fingernails, an indication that the body is shutting down one
vital function at a time and within hours, maybe even within minutes, the most vital of all will cease to
perform. He surmises that it’s somewhat like the way one goes through the house turning off the lights,
room by room, before leaving for a dinner party. The last light to be extinguished is always the one next to
the exit.
All signs point to the foregone conclusion that years filled with close calls and false certainties are about to
come to an end for the now feeble old man with the stark white hair. This will be the day that the reining
patriarch of the Capwell family will be biding a final farewell, and from all appearances he has a sold-out
performance for this final act.
After a lengthy illness, he died peacefully in the early hours this morning, while surrounded by loved ones.
It seems to Mason like that same old phrase gets repeated whenever anyone of significance pasts away.
So until now, he never took these accounts literally. Maybe it was because the cynical side of his nature
doesn’t allowed him to take anything he reads or hears at face value. Maybe it’s because he doubted that
death would always choose the dawning of a new day to reap its crop. Maybe it was because he never
could reason a plausible explanation to how, in the middle of the night, all of the loved ones know exactly
when to surround he who was about to past. Are they given pagers? He had often wondered, like the ones
restaurants pass out to patrons to notify them when their table is ready. Capwell party of twelve, your
relation is ready to croak.
He tries to stifle the laugh summoned by the image with a weak cough, but by the uneasy looks thrown in
his direction followed by those exchanged between the gathered loved ones, he suspects that his action
didn't go undetected, leaving him feeling a bit awkward and self-conscience.
Of course this is suppose to be a somber occasion, and laughing is inappropriate. Even so, Mason feels
that a little more humor and a lot less doom and gloom would vastly improve the mood around here. He
toys with the idea of suggesting a little game of truth and dare, but the twist that he would add would be
that the truth has to be all about the man of the hour. After all, the old guy lying in the center of attention
had been hated at various times by each and everyone as much as he had been loved, sometimes the two
occurring simultaneously. There isn't a person in the room who hasn’t had havoc forced upon his or her life
due to actions that could be labeled as manipulative, controlling, careless, and even ruthless. Instead of
talking in hushed, compassionate tones; they could instead be all having a blast trying to one-up each
other with the stories that they could tell. As Joe Gideon says in All That Jazz, ‘It’s showtime Folks!’
Alas, he knows that if he makes the proposal he would be rebuffed with a ‘shut-up Mason,’ like he always
is whenever he comes up with great ideas like this. Knowing that the reproaches were coming never
stopped him before, but just this once he decides to let the party poopers have their way with no
interference from him. After all, it’s their party, let them conduct it the way that they want, he’s only here by
default anyway.
He’s nearly on the verge of sulking, when he notices the appearance of a very small girl standing in the
doorway, clutching a colorful bouncy ball in her hands. Besides the toy, she brings with her a promise for a
change in ambiance, because unlike the sour pusses already situated in the room, she’s obviously ready
for some fun. Thankfully, nobody else seems to notice her or else she’d probably be scooted away with a
quiet reminder and reprimand that the old, sick man needs his rest. Mason thinks it’s ironic that the others
believe that rest should be a prerequisite for an eternity of it.
He beckons the tot to come closer with a subtle motion of his eyes, and as she comes nearer he can make
out tiny freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her upturned nose. Baby-fine, soft, dark blond curls cascade
down to her shoulders. Her eyes are as blue as the sky and at this moment they sparkle with mischief and
delight. He has seen these eyes before but can’t recollect when or where. Recognition and familiarity
continues to nag at him, however he’s unable to place whose child she is. That’s understandable since
with so many relatives arriving each day, bringing along with them kids and significant others that he’s
meeting for the first time, he’s having trouble keeping the family branches untangled inside his mind.
The girl lifts up the ball higher as an invitation. “C’mon, let’s go out to play,” she implore. “We’ll have fun, I
promise.”
The girl smiles and exposes two rows of miniature white teeth that have yet been tarnished by life’s sins
and spoils. She’s so young, innocent, and sweet in contrast to the old man lying on his deathbed that the
comparison of the two evokes in Mason an overwhelming wave of remorse and regret for his part in all the
time lost because of alcoholic binges, stubbornness, insanity, and just plain foolishness.
Sensing his sadness, the child puts down the ball and gasps his hand with both of hers, and as she tugs
she once again begs, “C’mon, lets play.”
Her uninhibited eagerness rescues him from the gloomy pit of despair, and it reminds him that he had
promised himself that when this time came, there wouldn't be any misgivings, because if there’s one thing
that he has learned over the years, it’s that there’s a purpose and a reason for everything in life, and in
death.
Reassured in his own beliefs, he gently pulls the small girl closer to whisper his philosophy into her ear, “In
every single moment there is significance.”
For a few seconds the youngster wears a thoughtful expression as she processes the information, and
then she captivates him with a wide-open grin as she nods her head in agreement.
He’s relieved to finally, for the first time in his life, to be understood without further explanation or excuses.
The child picks the ball up again briefly hiding her face with it as she proudly shows him the bright colors
dyed into the plastic. As she lowers it she smiles once more, but this time the corners of her mouth just
barely turn upward.
While following her ball intently with his eyes, Mason lays his head back down upon the pillow and softly
exhales the last breath that he’ll ever take.