Life is short

Today I received an e-mail from a very good friend, telling me that her father had been struck and killed by a car. He was crossing the street to pick up a paper. Simple task and suddenly his life was over. I'd only met him once, at my friend's wedding, where he patiently hosed the country club patio after one of his nephews puked up his dinner after too much good cheer. My friend's father was so cheerful, even as he dealt with puke, because he was so happy for his daughter on her wedding day. And that alone made me think he was delightful.

Of late, many people around me have lost someone. My stepmother's father passed away in mid-August after a brief illness related to lymphoma and a weak heart. Don was in his mid-80's, and he'd lived a full life, with a devoted, loving wife of 60 years (their anniversary was just two days before he passed), five good-looking and kind children, a baker's dozen of grandchildren, and two great grandchildren. When he went, the family felt a mixture of relief and sadness: relief because Don's suffering had ceased and he had gone to another place, and sadness because he was gone. In the month since his passing, my father and stepmother have often commented on his widow Esther's remarkable resilience, how she's been a rock. After seeing her last weekend, I can attest to that. She's 85 years old and she still has some fire in her belly. Even so, my stepmom still finds herself crying each time she drives her mother home, worried sick about her mom being there alone and sad about her father's departure. But Esther wants to stay there, with his things and hers, like always.

Don's time had clearly come, but it is more difficult to say that about my stepfather Tim's sister Robin. Robin passed away two weeks ago after complications related to a last-ditch effort surgery to save her life after a long battle with cancer. She turned 54 on the 7th of September and died early on the 8th. Her oldest son turned 18 years old on the 9th. He started his senior year two days before her death and Robin's younger son, almost 15, started his freshman year in high school. Now their father, divorced from Robin since the youngest was two, has suddenly decided the boys should move from the Pacific NW to Cleveland where he's a surgeon. He's never had time for them before and the boys want to stay with their stepfather. So that's ugly. It's hard not to feel angry at the fates that be for taking Robin away at this important juncture of her children's lives. She was so confident too, that it would be okay. She thought she might be able to go home that night after the surgery until the doctor told her she'd definitely need some time to recuperate. Was that naive or a tremendous show of strength? I don't know. But I definitely learned some things at the memorial--about Robin, about her family (MY family), about the boys she raised. She left too soon, but she did her job--of all the people who spoke about Robin that day, only her boys really acknowledged her greatness and her challenges on earth. Only they could paint her with complete honesty and understanding. They're amazing boys with tremendous futures. I wish Robin could see it. Who knows, maybe she can.

There's been other untimely passings this year. A friend's mother in her mid-50s--cancer. A community musician who frequented one of our concert series--sudden heart attack, age 44. A family friend of Wes, in his 90's, is expected to pass any day. I wish they wouldn't go, but there's nothing I can do about it. This is all I can do or say: We are here today. Let yourself love and be loved. Open yourself to the full possibility of each day and minute and live it. Unload your secrets and unsaid words. Feel and watch and listen. Do the things you dream of doing. Take time to savor your family and friends, the essential relationships that tie one person to another. Care and Laugh and Share. DON'T HOLD YOURSELF BACK.