A woman's life was celebrated yesterday at 11am. She was 45. Survived by her husband. And many loved ones. No children. I wonder if she wanted them? They had expected it to be a quiet ceremony, maybe 15 people. More than 150 people came to honor her. She was so young. Younger than me. A losing battle with breast cancer that had returned. As I sat with my children in the Guild room of our church, celebrating the Christmas holiday with our mommy & me group, I saw the mourners walking past. Some wiping away tears, some smiling, touching each other with shared memories.
This week I've been making a giant frame out of all the beautiful holiday cards we have received so far this season. It borders the large window looking into our sun porch. As I take in the view of all of these friends and loved ones who make up our life, I imagine all the cards going to her house, empty of her. And she will never see all of her people again. She will not sip on eggnog, stretching her legs in front of a warm fire and throw back her head and laugh. She is...gone. She is done here. I cannot get her out of my mind. Her name was Elizabeth. I did not know her. I wish I had.
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This is sad, isn't it? I was sitting last night, in the dark parking lot of the girls' high school, waiting for their practice to end - I was alone. Suddenly I thought of death and a rush of fear came over me - like hasn't happened in a long time. I sat there and tried to analyze it a bit - tried to talk myself out of the fear - and I managed to calm the fear, but was still very aware of how it had overcome me all of sudden like that. When I was younger (in my 20's) I often thought of and feared death, but I haven't had those thoughts in years. I was truly afraid last night - aware all of the sudden of my immortality. I don't know why it happened, but I didn't like it and I don't like being scared like that. This post touched me - especially today. Take care and have a good weekend. Kellan
ReplyDeleteSometimes ... I wish you were right next door so I could walk over there and we could sit and talk. I am so drawn to you - maybe it is our age - maybe you are just amazing to me. Yes ... that's it, I think.
Very sad. Very, very sad.
ReplyDeleteOur time is so fleeting; those moments bring it to mind.
ReplyDeleteI remember when the AIDS quilt was touring. I went to see it. Of course, I expected to be moved, but there was this one picture. It was a lovely young man--freshed faced--probably didn't even shave much--who was holding a kitten up against his cheek. I stood there and sobbed. I so wanted to know him.
ReplyDeleteThis was so beautiful. Isn't it amazing how many lives we touch, sometimes ones that we don't even realize, like her touching yours.
ReplyDelete45? That's just too cruel. So sad.
ReplyDeleteSo very sad. I'm 45 too, and I worry sometimes that having waited so long to have kids (after 40), that I have increased the likelihood of dying when they're still small. I'm not worried for myself, the idea of death doesn't bother me, but I don't want to leave my children motherless. It's hard for children to lose a parent - it affects their whole lives.
ReplyDelete