Rehearsing for the Obits

There is a certain strange clarity that comes from hearing, more than once, that people thought
you were dead. Most will never be the subject of a mistaken death, yet somehow, I have
managed to collect three such times when the world briefly believed I was history.

Proving that three times is not always the charm.

Looking back, each instance says something about the unpredictability of life, the assumptions
people make and the unforeseen ways rumors unfold. Taken together, they form a narrative about
resilience, survival and the humor that finds its way even into the heaviest of situations.

To borrow from Mark Twain, the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

The First Report of My Demise

The first time was more of an inquiry by an uncle after the attack on the Marine barracks in
Beirut.

First reports are often inaccurate and rarely travel cleanly, allowing rumors to transform into
pseudo facts with alarming speed.

When Assumption Became a Rumor

The second “death” rumor surfaced on 2/22/2022, an oddly memorable date that also happened
to be my youngest daughter’s 19 th birthday. Along Pennsylvania’s Route 61, a bicyclist was hit
by a garbage truck around 5 a.m. and dragged about 300 feet. The rider was severely injured and
thankfully survived. I had biked the same route daily for over 20 years, so the assumption was
that rider was yours truly proving a fragile boundary exists between fact and assumption.

A person hears “bad accident” and fills in the blanks. Word spread quickly and before long as
rumors do, it gained momentum that I had been killed in the accident.

Fate had other plans that day for both of us.

Dead Again

The third occasion had no deployment, no bicycle and no drama. Just a friend calling another
friend inquiring if it was true that I had died.

For those whose eyes fall here weekly, there is a contingent that claims I have been dead all
along – from the neck up making this column the longest running séance in print.

If there were a punch card for this sort of thing, I would be due for a free Starbucks latte by now.

The Meaning Beneath the Humor

Beneath the humor is something touching. Every time my premature death was considered, most
reacted with genuine concern.

Of all the ways to find out you have been declared dead, getting a secondhand report ranks at the
top. It was a mix of amusement and curiosity. It was the kind of misunderstanding you would
expect in a sitcom. But behind the humor was something meaningful that people cared enough to
wonder about my absence from this life.

A Strange, Unintentional Trilogy

When you stack the three incidents together, they form a strange, unintentional trilogy. Each
false alarm came from a different source: a military rumor, an accident, and misinformation. All
shared a common theme in assuming the worst because it is part of our human nature.

There is something oddly affirming in that.

I do not mean the fear or the rumors themselves, but the underlying human reaction.

To matter enough that someone worries, that someone grieves even prematurely, is a reminder
that your life intersects with others in ways you don’t always know.

A Reminder of Our Mortality

In an abstract way this made me pause to consider my own mortality. Not through the prism of
death, but through the reflection of how others imagined its possibility. The veneer between
being present and being interpreted, between being a voice in the room and becoming a narrative
someone else assembles from fragments in a world that moves fast, forgets faster and fills in the
blanks even faster.

When the Good News Becomes Good

These mistaken reports underscored how life has a funny way of reminding you that the game is
not over and to be grateful.

All three incidents offered perspective, appreciation and a column reminding me that losing
everything we love to the final arbiter that is death is precisely what makes the Good News – good.