On Memorial Day weekend I wrote about honoring family members and veterans laid to rest in the scenic and historic Maplewood Cemetery above Harrison.
The hour I spent wandering alone among the thousands of engraved stones, flags and flowers on that sun-splashed morning brought to mind something longtime friend John Massey of Springdale advised years ago.
"Mike, if you ever need to clear your mind of all the noise and irrelevance in life, I challenge you to get a blanket and lay to reflect a while in a cemetery. It will do wonders for your perspective."
John was right. As birds chirped and gentle breezes rustled leaves around me, I passed the final resting places for those who were part of my life seemingly yesterday.
I could still visualize their smiles and hear their voices and recall their mannerisms. And the truth I've always known, yet failed at the time to fully recognize, is how I'd taken them for granted when they were here. I'd never imagined them gone forever when they were so active and available at the moment.
The longer I spent wandering, the more names emerged from headstones that resurrected each of them in my mind: Bill Hudson, Jim Phillips, Pebble Daniel, Sheridan Garrison. Each returned to life in my memories and, in that regard, one could argue they remain alive within me.
With each impression came the realization that the more we age, the closer we are to becoming memories for those who'll remain. And so the cycle continues, leaving us to weigh what our temporarily shared period of consciousness amounts to, and to wonder if we're supposed to be using the fleeting opportunity in this strange world differently than we are. If so, how?
Each of us can identify with this, whether surrounded in this cemetery on all sides by reminders of who shared our life before surrendering theirs, or those scattered elsewhere across hallowed grounds.
As with us, they each laughed, cried, worried, raged and loved a relatively short while only to wind up back in complete silence.
The thing that John understood about his challenge to me is, by being among so many of the familiar and strange, taking note of their dates of arrival and departure and realizing all of us shared so much in common for a while as human beings, I am brought face to face with my mortality and and perspective on the nature of existence.
Where's the why?
I was asked last week about the obvious dangers of millions of citizens of other nations, criminals, mental patients and deadly drugs being allowed to freely and illegally flood our Southern border and into overburdened American communities that cannot possibly afford or absorb them.
With all the political talking heads and government officials constantly blathering and dissembling about this invasion, I have yet to hear even one honestly answer the most relevant question. We all know the who, when and what of this travesty.
However, I've yet to hear the official why this record-setting illegal catastrophe against our sovereign nation that defies common sense is being permitted, even encouraged, by those in political power in Washington.
Believe I'll just rest here, maybe take a nap, and wait until I hear an answer that makes the slightest sense to me and all American citizens.
Art of swallowing
Of the many things I have missed since undergoing radical surgery on the left side of my neck to remove the squamous cancer cell that lodged in a lymph node and rapidly grew into a destructive beast within months.
With only half of my tongue functioning after the left-side vagus nerve was removed, I've sorely missed being able to swallow food or drink, which in my mid-70s had become one of life's remaining pleasures to share with family and friends.
I am happy they can still appreciate such special times and I enjoy watching them, but for me a constant feeding tube and a steady stream of liquid calories three times a day isn't remotely close to the flavor of a grilled burger and hot dog I can smell and will always remember.
It's pretty much the same for the other holiday gatherings highlighted by ham and turkey. I realize and accept there's not much to be done now to regain the ability to swallow properly. I never gave something so seemingly simple a second thought a year ago April. But that's how fast life can--and does--change for so many.
Only those unfortunate enough to have contracted the same type of throat cancer I did can fully understand how frustrating and debilitating to daily life it can be. Several of you in the same boat have reached out and we've become friends over the Internet. I appreciate each of you.
I've also been going to speech and swallow therapy at the North Arkansas Regional Medical Center for a month. Had a swallow test the other day to see how things were going. I'll not be sharing the report card with Jeanetta.
Mike Masterson is a longtime Arkansas journalist, was editor of three Arkansas dailies and headed the master's journalism program at Ohio State University. Email him at mmasterson@arkansasonline.com.