When death loses its sting

In elementary/middle school of the 1970s, participating in gym class wasn't optional. You came to class dressed in your gym clothes ready for whatever the P.E. teacher had planned. Everyone cheered with delight when he brought out the colorful parachute. Everyone groaned in agony when it was time for fitness running tests. But when he announced that the game of the day was dodgeball, our faces morphed into a mosaic of mixed expressions. Some kids despised the game, some were indifferent, and some adored it.  But whether you liked it or not, there was no sitting out. Everyone had to play.

I fondly remember Circle Dodgeball. If you’ve never played, or maybe it’s been 40 years or so since you have, let me refresh your memory. Six kids were handed a firm, red, rubber ball, balls that carried a sharp sting when they came into contact with human flesh. Sometimes they left welts depending on the strength and niceness of the thrower, or if you were unfortunate enough to get hit with the little black rubber thing where the air goes in. The kids with the balls formed a makeshift circle around half of the gym floor. The rest of the students stepped inside the circle, eyes wide in anticipation for the game to begin. The goal was simple: Don’t get hit by a ball. If you get hit, you're out, game over and you join the others in circle. There were a few exceptions though when hit. If someone was lame enough to throw it at your head, you got to stay in, because, um, that’s dangerous (not that the entire game wasn't). And if you caught the ball, without dropping it, you got a free pass. But only the brave attempted that.   

The teacher blew the whistle and the balls started flying, a flurry of red whizzing into the tumble jumble of screaming, squealing adolescents in colorful shorts and t-shirts, dodging, ducking, hiding, jumping, running. Some kids were easy targets and some were impossible to hit.  And oh, and the strategies! Those with none got out immediately. Some didn't seem to even try (the girls who didn't want to mess up their hair and makeup), asking to get hit so they wouldn't have to run around. Some teamed up, back-to-back, to warn each other of incoming missiles. Some went under the radar, staying out of the action off to the side hoping to go undetected. Some tried hard for a while then got tired and quit. Some gallantly ran around, cocky and taunting, moving close to the throwers then quickly pulling back. And then there were one or two, usually the popular ones for some reason, who adeptly and athletically swerved and swayed, defiantly dodging the balls as they boldly reached out to make the catch.

It was a rough game. Some kids cried. Some laughed. Some sulked. And some just got mad. But one by one, as the balls flew through the air, the players were taken out, and the hoard in the middle grew smaller as the circle around them grew bigger. In the end, no matter how brave, how talented, how athletic, how fit, how agile, (or how popular), all had the same fate. Sure, some stayed in longer than others, but in the end, it really didn’t matter how the game was played, because every last kid got out.

And that was the game. After class, the plays were relived in the locker room as we changed out of our gym clothes. Stories about Kevin's crazy jump, or how Dwayne threw it so hard, or how Susie stayed in so long. And then it was on to the next class. The welts wilted, the stinging subsided, and the hurts and pains and triumphs of the game faded as we focused on retrieving our Social Studies homework from our Trapper Keepers.

This week many of us were disturbed by the news that two of our college classmates had died, suddenly and speedily with no fair warning. Not that there's ever a fair warning. Now, I know death is part of life. We all know that, but when it happens we’re just rarely ready for it.  No matter the age, or the circumstances, or the reason or [lack of] rhyme, death just always feels wrong. I don't even understand it really. I mean, lots of things end in this life, but not really. The day ends, but we have tomorrow. The meal ends, but we have dessert. Winter ends but spring comes. Relationships end but we make new friends. Jobs end but we find a new one or collect unemployment. But death...life ends and is no longer and we really don't know what's next. Oh, yes, I know some of you know that you know what you know that you know, and that is your faith. I too have a very strong belief in an afterlife, a heaven, or hell, but really, I have to admit that I don’t know for sure. I know what I want to believe. But I’ve not been there and done that yet, so really, I just don’t know.

I woke up thinking this morning about dodgeball. I don't know why, but it was on my mind. And death. And life. And how we all get thrown in the game without much of a choice. We are birthed into this world and the balls start flying. Some of us are able to dodge those first few balls but not all. Some little one's lives end almost as soon as they've begun. And it doesn’t make any sense at all. Others hang in there for a while but out of the blue get hit, way too early in the game, and leave us troubled to our core. Some try to avoid hits by lurking in the shadows of life, thinking that if they avoid really living they’ll be safe. For them we have pity. Some get weary and give up on their own. These make us so very sad. Some team up with others, then one gets hit while the other remain. That one’s tough.We feel great loss for the one hit and empathy for the one left. Some get nailed in the head, and somehow survive, and come out stronger than before. They inspire us. Some get hit hard but they manage to catch the ball in mid-air and end up surviving the blow, scoring a second chance.They give us hope. Then there's the ones with the uncanny knack for diving, twisting, athletically dodging all the balls that life throws at them. These we envy. 

Some seem to hate the game. Fear, discouragement, and weariness set in. We get tired. Why do we have to keep dodging all these damn red balls? It’s not supposed to be this way. Others become indifferent, or so it seems, with emotions shut off as they simply survive. I don’t care.What can I do about it?  Life sucks and there’s not much I can do to change it. And then there are those who seem to thrive in the game, either breezing through life and never getting hit or having figured out how to enjoy the game of life immensely, no matter how many near misses they experience. That was tough, but, wow, what a rush. I’m alive! 

But no matter how we navigate this thing called life, in the end, we all eventually get hit and we’re out of the game. Death comes to us all. It doesn’t matter how smart we are, how talented we are, how resilient we are, how healthy we are, how lucky we are, we’ll eventually feel the sting. We can spend our entire lives judging each other on how we “should” play the game, but why? Sure, the enjoyment of the game may be affected by our choices, but when it's over...we all end back up in the circle.

And then what? That’s where it gets hazy. Because none of us have ever finished the game and lived to survive it. In gym class, there’s always that next game. Next time, I’m going to move quicker. Next time, I’m going to jump higher. Next time, I’m using Bobby as a shield. But this isn’t Circle Dodgeball. I don’t believe in reincarnation, so I don’t believe we get a second chance to play this human life game again. But I also don’t think this is the end-end. This particular game will come to a close, yes, but then…well, honestly, I don’t know. But I'd like to think we’ll all end up together, somehow, somewhere, in the circle, and we'll talk and laugh and cry and share as we reflect on the game, and how it was played. What went well, what went wrong. What was hard and what was fun. We’ll remember how tough it was at times, but how delightful it was at other times. There’ll be a lot of nodding and “me too’s”.  And then, when we’ve reminisced, we’ll go get changed out of our old sweaty, dirty clothes and step down the hallway toward our next class. I don’t know what that looks like. I wonder if it will be fun like playing with the parachute. I wonder if it will be boring like being timed for fitness tests. I wonder if it will be challenging like this human life is, with lots of red balls to dodge. I don’t know. But I’m comforted that maybe, just maybe, we’ll all be there together to find out.  

And with that thought, though the pain of losing loved ones way too early in the game remains, death somehow loses a bit of its sting.