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“You are not required to complete this task, but you are not free to withdraw from it.” – The Talmud

When I was a teenager I loved filling notebooks with quotes I came across. I don’t quite remember what qualified a quote to make it into one of my compilations, but it likely just had to strike me as interesting or thoughtful in some way. Many of these little quips are long forgotten – I still have most of the notebooks (Because I have some minor hording tendencies, according to hubs. I contend that one wooden trunk full of nostalgia does not a hoarder make – but that’s another post for another time), but this one has stuck in my head over the years. At the time when I jotted it down, I attributed its source to the Talmud. I have never read the Talmud, so I’m not sure how it crossed my path, but a quick search of the internet confirms that at the very least the words are associated with Judaism. I remember reading this quote to my mother, who asked “What does it mean?” and at the time I assumed that was because she didn’t get it. Looking back she likely just wanted to know what I thought it meant.

I don’t know the context of the quote in the larger body in which is resides (if you do, I’d love to hear about it). To me, this quote has always been the most basic and beautiful description of everything we go through in this life. On a small scale it is about all those tasks that we deal with on a daily basis – you don’t have to write that report, finish that project or improve that nagging thing in your life, but chances are that not taking care of those things means they will just hang around and haunt you. On a larger scale it speaks to me about living life – you can withdraw from your life in a variety of ways: drugs, alcohol, depression, isolating yourself, or even killing yourself – and in these ways you can refuse to complete the task of living your life, and yet you cannot avoid the fact that certain tasks have been laid out before you and they will never go away until you choose to tackle them.

Seven years ago my friend Peter took his own life. Just typing the words is more difficult than I can put into words. He was kind, smart, quiet in his words, and yet forceful and present in his music. He was also sad, and struggled with the tasks laid out before him. We all knew he was going through an incredibly tough time. By the time that January rolled around our group had begun to drift. I hadn’t seen him in a while. I can still remember that phone call… the choked sound of your voice when you told me. I can remember being surprised by an old friend’s angry shouting, cursing him – but of course he was angry. Now it seems like the most rational response.

It’s been seven years – so when I came home last night and saw your post of Facebook, that you were going to our old place to raise a glass, I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised that it had slipped my mind. We’ve gone together every year, until yesterday. I felt guilty… not because I’ve moved on, Peter and I were never as good of friends, but because I’d left you to go by yourself.

So how is it that I can believe that Peter did not withdraw from the task at hand? Well, for one thing, his departure didn’t make his painful situation disappear – it sent his pain like shrapnel to wound his friends and family. We still carry the pieces that tore into us - and we are assigned our own part in his tasks to work through. I also don’t believe that death is the end. I do believe we are reincarnated and that we carry our unfinished business with us, and are given the opportunity to continue working on unraveling the knots that belong to us. I hope with all my heart that this time around you are happier, and feel more equipped to take on the task that is living. But more than that I hope my friends who did not attempt to withdraw are able to heal the holes you left behind.