Death is so lame. One of my friends died yesterday morning. She was fighting cancer, and the cancer wasn't killing her. Then she caught pneumonia early in the week and the stupid pneumonia swept her off in a matter of days since her immune system was down.
I'm kind of angry that she just up and died like that. Her husband had been to death's door and back a year or two ago, so in my mind the two of them were sort of immortal. I completely expected her to kick the cancer and move on. I was complaining about this early death of an immortal to another friend, and she expressed her gladness that she had taken Marilyn cookies and visited her a little while ago. That made me feel a lot better. NOT!
I had a good cry about it yesterday. I take some comfort in the fact that she got to raise her children and experience grandmotherhood. But Marilyn was still what I consider as very young for death--only in her mid or late 60s. We have lost several younger women in our community this year, mothers who still had a few children at home and the younger sister of a dear friend, so early death has been on my mind a lot.
I don't know why some people have to die young and others get to live to 100. Each season of life has an innate value and grace that I would like to find, and it bothers me when these women leave before they get to experience all of the seasons. I'd like to watch my last child turn the tassel at graduation. I'd like to be able to wrap my grandbabies in quilts I make for them and then give them back to their mothers at bedtime. I'd like to clean house and cook for my daughters after they give birth.
I guess the lesson for me is that I need to taste the ripest fruits of each season and focus on the immediate now of every moment. The moment might be one in my last season. The other lesson is that NO ONE ELSE I LOVE IS ALLOWED TO DIE FOR THE REST OF THE DECADE AT LEAST!