Ushers

by Joe Hill

“Four Thousand Weeks, Oliver Burkeman,” Duvall said. “What lasts four thousand weeks?” “A human life,” Martin said. “If you’re lucky.”

“I think sometimes, once in a while, nearly dying brings a new clarity to a person’s life,”

people are always going to want law, and if the only lawmen are white, then it isn’t law anymore. It’s apartheid.”

When you die, you aren’t alone. They’re always there, at the end, to collect you.”

“I think of them as the ushers. Like at a play—the people who lead you through the dark to your seat when you come in late. I guess there are ushers at funerals too. But maybe you’d call them angels. They look like angels.”

whatever is inside us that makes us who we are, that went away—disappeared with her usher.”

People die. I don’t want to be the reason some live and some don’t.

Accept that death is as natural as the rest of life. Dogs understand that. Cats understand that. Only humans have a hard time with it. And when it’s over, at least there’s someone there. At least you aren’t alone.”

and in a calm, low, soothing voice, he said, Hold on, Tony, hold on, something wonderful is coming.