Last night a neighbor told me that another neighbor who was also a friend and a client had dropped dead. He was a young guy (under 50), in great physical shape, and he’d just had a regular checkup that found him to be in robust health. He was off on a business trip, had gone out jogging, and just dropped dead.
He leaves a young widow and three teenaged children.
You really don’t know the day or the hour, do you?
So, if there’s anything you know you should do that you’ve been putting off doing like hugging your kids or playing ball with your dog or calling your mom or seeing the Grand Canyon, this would be a really good time to do it.
An unexpected death is very, very hard to cope with. My grown daughter died in her sleep two years ago this month. I am still jerked to a sudden, fresh realization every so often, a surreal moment.
As a child in parochial school, we said a prayer for a happy death every morning. In first grade it seemed strange. I’ve aged into it, though, and suggest it as something to look up. St. Joseph is the patron saint for this occasion (I love that Catholicism has one for everything).
It’s good you point out how few people had to use their cars to get to the funeral. Proves that community still thrives, despite what the nomadic big-city dwellers say — or what they fled from.
When my mother died, someone had a camera at the funeral. I asked not for a picture of the service, but of the old guy with the shovel, standing by the mound of dirt smoking a cigarette, waiting to start his job of filling back in the hole. I framed it as my memento mori, to remind me not to put off those things you mention in your post.
Think of this: your friend’s children will have a special, shuddering recollection of Memorial Day.
~D
PS He died on my birthday. When someone mentioned getting old, I said I preferred it to the alternative. So thanks for the post…it re-inforced the truth behind my offhand remark.
May he rest in peace and may perpetual light shine upon him…
Thanks, dymphna. The entire situation has had special resonance for me since it brought back for me in sharp relief the death of my own father many, many years ago suddenly and at far too young an age. My mother, sisters, and I stood precisely where these neighbors of ours are standing now.