In the Midst of Death... 3/18/09

They say that death comes in threes. Whenever a public figure dies, be it a politician, a musician or an actress, two more are sure to follow in quick succession.

This past week, I learned within 48 hours that three people I knew, or knew of, had passed away. None of them were relatives, nor were they even what I could classify as close acquaintances. But their deaths have touched me nonetheless.

The first was Susan, the next-door neighbor of our relatives on Nantucket. When my husband I decided to hold our wedding in their back yard, Susan graciously offered the gazebo in her beautifully maintained garden as a spot for our wedding pictures. Though she is gone, her generosity that day will live forever in our memories and our photos. She was 67.

I learned about the passing of Bob, a fellow church member, at my Sunday service last week. Though I only knew Bob by sight, I was one of many in the church who delivered meals to his family while he was hospitalized. Each week I would see Bob's name in the bulletin, with brief updates on his condition, asking for cards and prayers. Each week I prayed for his recovery. It was a blow to hear that he had lost his fight. He was 52.

Kara, the fiancée of a close friend's brother, was diagnosed with her illness just a few weeks ago. Imagine visiting your doctor and discovering that in all likelihood you would not survive to see the summer. Despite her diagnosis, Kara fought hard, continuing to make plans to marry the man she loved. Her life ended at the age of 32, just six weeks after her doctor's visit.

It's natural to contemplate our own mortality when someone we know has passed. Had I died at 32, I would have been married only briefly. I would have never known the joy of my children, the warmth of my community, the rebirth of my writing or the friends who make me laugh each day.

If I were to die at 52, I might be lucky enough to see my oldest graduate from high
school but not my youngest. I wouldn't see them off to college, watch them find their careers, fall in love, marry or have children of their own.

67 still seems far too young (though it seemed ancient to me when I was 21, it's now just 21 years away!) If genetics play any part, my grandmother lived into her nineties, but the odds these days of living that long seem slim (despite Willard Scott and the Smuckers Club).

On a personal note, I've never been one of those "live for today" folks. I've always been prone to worry about the "what ifs" of tomorrow. But the events of this week have reminded me that none of us knows just how many tomorrows we have left. Given the choice, all pain and illness aside, I'd be willing to bet that Susan, Bob and Kara would have all wished for the same thing: more time.

As a result, I'm going to try to focus less on the "what ifs" of tomorrow and enjoy the moments of today instead. I'll revel in the noise and chaos of an elementary school science fair or my fifth-grader's first sleepover. I'll remember to tell my family and friends that I love them. I'll try to honor those who passed this week by making the most of whatever time I have left.

Care to join me?