Toward Eternity

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me ~Emily Dickinson 


I am not middle-aged.  I tell myself that fairly often.  I tell myself that when I realize I have a high-school-aged child–an impossibility considering it seems I was just in high school myself yesterday.  I tell myself that when I have to cope with the fact that I no longer have a child who still believes in Santa.  I tell myself that when I attend various birthday celebrations for relatives who’ve made it well into their nineties. 

And for the last two days I’ve been telling myself that while I try to process the news of an acquaintance of mine–the mother of three high-school girls of her own–dying suddenly from an aneurysm earlier this week. 

It’s impossible for me to comprehend the loss her family is experiencing right now.  As horrible as a long-term illness like cancer is, at least in that situation the family has the opportunity to say good-bye and to prepare as much as possible for the inevitability of what is to come.  In this case, a young, healthy mother attended her daughter’s basketball game, went home, complained of a headache, and was dead before morning.

And, of couse, she thought she had plenty of time.  She probably told herself she wasn’t really “middle-aged.”  There would be high school and college graduations, weddings and babies, and travel with her husband all to come.  And they will come, but she won’t be there to see them.

So, I send out my condolences to the family and my thanks for the reminder that each moment is precious, and every day is a gift.  A gift I plan to appreciate to the fullest.



Filed under Life in General

6 responses to “Toward Eternity

  1. ramblingmom

    They’re in my prayers.

  2. oh wow. Hugs. I am very sorry for their (and your) loss.

  3. Samantha

    Since my mother’s sudden death three years ago, this kind of thought process is always on my mind, and while sometimes it can feel heavy and very scary I am grateful for its constant reminder, not to take anything for granted and enjoy. In a way it has made me a better person, my mom’s final gift I guess.

  4. I am so sorry for the loss of your friend. A friend of mine died like this several years ago — she was in the kitchen cooking supper and a minute later her young son found her on the floor. Life is such a precious gift. Thank you for the reminder.

  5. I’m so sorry for your loss.

  6. I’m sorry for your, and her family’s loss. It is a reminder that lift is a gift, a precious one we need to cherish.

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