Kallan and I are headed to see an exhibit at the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI) called Body Worlds. The exhibit contains actual human bodies whose inner workings and anatomy are displayed through a process called plastination. I have done some research, and we’re not about to see mere parts of bodies, separated from their owners and dissociated from personhood. We’re going to see what’s left of people . . . all of what’s left of people . . . all of what went into making these people . . . all of what is left behind . . . revealed.
Kallan is excited and enthusiastic; this outing is her idea. I glance over at her as we drive to the museum. Mark and I have long told the girls that when things die, when people die, they leave behind a body for which they no longer have any use. We have explained that death separates, and that whatever makes a person a “person” is no longer in the body after death. All the tools are left behind, but the essence and the knowledge required to make these tools a person are gone. Kallan is aware of the details of the museum’s exhibit, and she seems fine with it.
Still.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and consider for a moment, “I hope this exhibit isn’t too scary. I wouldn’t want to be scared.”
Kallan leans forward to turn down the car’s stereo, “I don’t think it will be scary, Mom. You’ll be OK.”
“You don’t think seeing dead bodies will be scary?”
“Here’s the thing, Mom. I don’t want to see a dead body by surprise, but these people said it was OK for me to see their bodies after they were done with them. They signed up and they said it was OK, and they wouldn’t do that to try to scare me.”
“You think?”
“Anyway, dying is the scary part, Mom. Dying is scary, but death is not scary. Death is just done.”
“You think?”
“Well, not done, maybe . . . but whatever comes next seems like it will be fine.”
“Huh.”
She kicks her legs into space for a few seconds, and then, “Everybody dies. It would be cool to live forever, but everybody dies.”
“Not so cool to live forever, maybe.”
Kallan looks over at me, “Why not?”
“Well, how would you appreciate the time you have if you knew it was going to go on forever? How would you know to cherish anything if your moments stretch into eternity?”
“True.”
“I think it might be very lonely to live forever. Everyone you loved would leave eventually, and you would be faced with having to start over . . . endlessly.”
“OK, so what if everyone lived forever?”
“But then the world would be filled to overflowing, and then what?”
“Yeah, that wouldn’t be fair to the new people if the old people refused to give them a turn.”
“Exactly. Everybody gets a turn.”
“I kind of wish I knew how long my turn is going to be.”
“Not me . . . I just want to make sure that as often as possible during the time I have, I am doing exactly what I want to do.” I reach for Kallan’s knee and squeeze, “Like right now. I am exactly where I want to be in this moment, here with you.”
Kallan smiles, but then her face grows serious again, “Do you ever worry that you’ve used up a lot of your turn?”
“Soon as you are born, you’ve used up some of your turn, babe. No one knows how long their turn is . . . you get what you get and time moves along for everyone.”
“So my turn could be done today.”
“Probably not, but yes.”
“Better to focus on the moments than the end.”
“Yup. Definitely.”
We travel in silence for a few minutes. Kallan stares out the window, “Some people think there’s a heaven after you die.”
“That’s true.”
“Some people think your spirit comes back in other forms.”
“Also true.”
“What do you think?”
“I think that believing there is something after this life gives some people a great deal of comfort, and that’s a very good thing.”
“Doesn’t mean the belief is right, though.”
“Nope. Doesn’t mean it’s not, either. No one knows.”
“It would be cool if someone came back from the dead to tell us what it’s like over there.”
“Except if someone showed up to tell you what death was like, how would you know that person had really been dead?”
“You’d have to just believe it.”
“So then it would come down to belief again anyway, even if there was someone to tell you of his or her experience.”
Kallan considers this, “True.” She stares out her window for a few minutes at the water below, the Willamette River a swollen surging parallel to the road we travel, “The river’s in a big muddy hurry. All the rain has made it fast and fat.” I make the turn to head over the bridge, and Kallan says softly, “I don’t think there is a hell. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Yeah, I agree.”
“And if there’s nothing at all . . . like NOTHING . . . no awareness or anything . . . just done . . . that’s not so bad.”
“Nope.”
“So then I’m back where I started. Death is not scary. Dying is scary, but everyone gets a turn and there’s no point worrying about it.”
There’s traffic on the bridge, and I merge to the right to take the OMSI exit just on the other side of the river, “Hey, remember how we were talking not too long ago about how water is a non-renewable resource?”
“Yeah, we learned that in school . . . there’s only so much water in the world and that’s it.”
“Remember how we talked about the fact that the water that comes out of the faucet has been here always? For as long as there has been water, that water has been here . . . it might have been clouds and it might have been ice and it might have been in the ocean . . . that water has been here.”
Kallan adds eagerly, “And a drink of water you take today might have once been the water a king drank, or the water that a dinosaur peed, or the water that oozed out in the blood of an animal being eaten.”
“Exactly. So what if life is like that?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if there is a certain amount of life energy available in the world, and it has always been the same? What if that life energy gets recycled, so that when someone dies, others get to live . . . not just people, but animals and plants too.”
“You mean like decomposition?”
“Sort of, but not really . . . although decomposition also helps life energy to disperse. I mean maybe there are rivers that we can’t see, rivers of energy swelling and surging and feeding this world’s beings.”
“So when people or animals die, their energy goes into this invisible river?”
“Yeah, maybe something like that.”
“And so then everyone who is gone gives to everyone who is just arriving and everyone who is born takes from everyone who has already been?”
“Yes.”
“I like that. Thank you.”
I glance over at Kallan, “You’re welcome, babe.”
We pull into the museum’s parking lot.
The Body Worlds exhibit is phenomenal.
Kallan is spellbound.
So awesome.
She spends the ride home talking nonstop about all that we saw. As we near our house, she gathers her things, excited about sharing the details of her day with Mark and Maj. We walk up the front steps, and I shake out the house key with a jingle.
“Mom?”
“Yes, babe?”
“Thank you for today.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked the museum.”
“Yes, but that’s not what I meant. I meant thank you for the day.”
I unlock the door and Kallan races into the house, leaving me standing there at the threshold.
Breathing in the moment.
Breathing it out.
Moving into the next moment.
Taking my turn.
