Found Musings: On Death and Dying

I’m in the process of cleaning out notes and wrapping up loose ends for my current job and stumbled across this from sometime in 2008 or 2009 – need to slap a datemark on things I jot down… (I’ve included the original text in addition to the scan):

“The day her skirt fell around her ankles in the baking aisle of Arnie’s craft shop in Houghton Lake, she chose not to cry. She would not cry to me for three more years, on the Sunday afternoon she told me she was dying. My sobbing drowned out only by hers. And five weeks later, I could only howl when the news came that she’d died 20 minutes earlier.
She laughed – a lot. With her whole body, her head thrown back in sheer enjoyment of who and where she was.”

Thought I’d share it – wish I could get the inspiration to write like that again from time to time. Just haven’t had the time to get inspired lately.

Anyway, thought I’d share.
Enjoy.

L

Juxtaposition

It’s funny, the way things look up against one another.

Thursday night Andrea, Molly and I and our babies enjoyed a laid back evening dinner at Andrea’s house. They had just closed on a cabin across the street from her Dad’s cabin. It was an exciting time.

Friday, her Dad had a brain aneurysm and was gone.

 

My Dad, who successfully conquered bladder cancer 20+ years ago, had to go in Wednesday for surgery to remove ‘they-didn’t-know-what’ from his bladder.

Now I’m a parent and shuddered at the thought of my own daughter not having her Dad.

And then it went and happened to one of my best friends.

 

We grew up on the same lake, where our grandparents both had cottages.

Her Dad had a cabin at the same lake, and that’s where Andrea and her family had just bought their cabin.

It used to be the place I went when everything else fell apart. Then IT fell a part and I found other places, friends, people to lean on. And Andrea could never fathom how it went from what it was to what it IS.

Unfortunately, now she gets to know.

 

You try so hard to protect yourself, the people you love, your children, everyone you care for from the world, from spontaneous car accidents, from themselves. And then, you get a crappy phone call from someone whose job it is to tell you to come quickly, as you sat safe at home, protected. Or so you thought.

 

And I’m so sad for her. I get a lump in my throat thinking of it. And isn’t part of it that when it happens, for a glimmer of time, we’re grateful and thankful that it’s not us. Not this time, at least. Those of us who have lost – and lost big – know the impossibility that living, breathing, eating poses in the face of great loss and we’re thankful that, for this one moment, we can support the grief instead of owning it.

I wish I could un-ring this bell for Andrea, for her family. But I can only be her friend.

 

There will be life. There will be loss.

There will be sun. There will be clouds.

There will be rain. There will be wind.

There will be floods. There will be drought.

There will be friends. There will be foes.

There will be memory. There will be fantasy.

But at least there will have been…well…something, anything, to allow us to savor our time here together.

 

Tomorrow I’ll write something not so Debbie-Downer. I feel like my blogs have been that way lately.

Tomorrow I’ll write something fun and tell you something good, because that’s what we want to hear.