…because love lives on

While clicking through pictures of the Spice Girls on people.com, my attention was drawn to the following text ad:

Because Love Lives On…
Diamonds created from carbon of your loved one as a precious memorial.
www.LifeGem.com

So, obviously, I had to visit this lifegem.com and check it out. Not only will they create a diamond from your loved one’s cremated remains (or a lock of hair) but they’ll do the same for your deceased pet:

Why choose a Precious Pet LifeGem diamond?

Because I’ll always remember…
how you preferred a milk jug to an expensive toy.

LifeGem CEO Greg Herro then goes on to talk about how sometimes he misses his pet so much it hurts to breathe. I know his pain. As a little girl, I sat sobbing at the piano for 4 hours singing and playing a melancholy version of “Your are my Sunshine” after we had to return my hamster to the pet store (she was traumatized to the point of viciousness from living across from the snake cages). Why hadn’t I thought to save a strand of hamster hair, so that now, years later I could have her made into a diamond (yellow, obviously) and have her with me always?

Oh right, because she was a rodent. Is this not one of the creepiest things you’ve ever heard of?

lyrical synergy

In an attempt to get that ‘Umbrella’ song out of my head (don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love it, and it’s my own fault for listening to it on repeat) I put on some Sam Phillips. Because she is the musical antithesis of Rihanna, and because I love her music. So here I am, bumping along on the bus, looking out the window into central park, when “I Need Love” comes on.

“I need love
not some sentimental prison
I need god
not the political church
I need fire
to melt the frozen sea inside me
I need love”

And it made me realize that Sam Phillips is one of the most gifted lyricists out there. The words are simple, but strung together they add up to so much more. What’s the word for that again?

I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve, I have a history of taking off my shirt

Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves, I wear my superstitions there. For the world to see. I don’t encounter many black cats or ladders walk under, but I am careful with mirrors, and I believe that deaths come in threes.

So when I read recently about two people I’d gone to school with passing away, I got nervous. I began holding my breath. And over a ceasar salad on saturday night I realized it was because I was waiting for someone else to die. Morbid as that is, it was my natural reaction. I was nervous for days, breathing shallowly and waiting out lights to cross the street. What if I was number three?

When I opened up the email reading ‘Old Man Schenley dead at 96′ I exhaled. Because he was my three. Old Man Schenley (born Eddie Bieber) lived in a building that GW bought and converted into a dorm, but he stayed on. He lived in the Schenley for over 60 years, and could frequently be seen shirtless on the benches outside. He was as much a part of campus as the clock in Kogan plaza, and unlike the clock, he had amazing stories to tell. I only spoke with him once, but everyone knew that he was a famous cyclist, and if given the chance he would tell you about competing in the Olympics and breaking records. I didn’t know him any better than I knew the other two recently deceased, but he lived in the periphal vision of my four years at college, and that’s longer than many people I’ve known well. I was saddened to read about his death, and took the time to read through the entire article, trying to learn more.

But then I closed the email, deleted it, and moved on to other things. Because no matter how affected we are by any event, the truth is that we move on and forget about it. But maybe not about him.