Where Were You...

"Guess who died today."

It was a game MyEx and I used to play. We stopped playing just about the divorce. We stopped playing anything during the divorce. Everything turned so serious.

It's not that we were playing at the expense of others. Actually quite the opposite. It was our way of paying tribute to their life.

"I remember when I saw that movie he was in with that other guy! I spit my soda all over the girl in the seat in front of me!"

Even when one of us didn't remember, the other would regale tales of how that person affected our lives. You know, these are people we grew up with and now wouldn't grow up with any longer.

Occasionally one of us would mention a name, and the other person would go, "I thought she was already dead."

"Apparently not."

"huh. Well can I tell you all the stuff I mentioned when I thought she died before?"

"Sure, go ahead."

Because somebody dies daily, it became part of our daily routine. After the first sip of coffee, but before the crosswords. It was our way of celebrating life. That died when we divorced. I think that death hit to close to home for either of us to even talk about. It's like loving thunderstorms until the lightning strikes your back porch.

"Guess who died today?"

"I don't know, who?"

"The Boyds."

"Oh, crap! Really? Wait, that's us."

"Yeah…I know."

This week, the piling obits reminded me of that. This week started with the loss of Ed McMahon and ended with Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett in the turn of a page. I mean, I watched TV stations shift from "mourning Farrah" on the street interviews to live coverage at the UCLA medical center. And yeah, MyEx and I did exchange txts. Maybe it was the end of an era, or maybe just to show that we've moved on past the loss of the Boyds.

Now I figure today will start the "where where you?" phase of their deaths.

It is weird. Whenever something like this happens, we try to make it all about us. In three years we'll have stories about where we were and what we were doing at the moment each one died, down to the second.

"I was washing my car."

"I was checking out internet porn when the stripper started to cry."

Nope. No 'Beat It" jokes today. Today I'm not 12. Today, I'm mortal, and that looks like 41. I've seen a lot of death, and I can relate to them all personally.

I don't know if we get that from the news, or the news gets that from us. Every time something happens, their job is to personalize it--to make us feel. The best way to do that is to show how it relates to us as individuals or a community.

That's why I wish we'd do the same thing in our own lives. Maybe if we personalized the things around us, we'd do better in our personal lives. I'm guilty. I imagine in three years, I could be sitting in a bar somewhere and somebody would ask, "where were you when Michael Jackson died?"

I'd lift my beer and say over the lip, "I was working out." Then take a sip.

"Yeah. I was getting a burger."

Then the guy I'm talking with would pivot on his stool, turn to me and ask, "Where were you when the Boyds died."

"I have no idea. I only remember when I heard the news."

And that's probably the biggest shame of all.