Life and Death

I was blindsided lately by the news of an old Eddie Bauer colleague's death. Sandy was warm hearted, kind, beautiful, talented, generous. She was full of integrity and joy. She had three sons and a husband. How could she possibly be dead. Why does death always take us by such surprise? People always die. It's what happens. To everyone. All the time. Every day. And yet like innocent babes we cover our mouth in a horrified "no."

Death happens right in the middle of life.

Another colleague, also from my Eddie Bauer days, found me via Facebook. She and her husband are semi-retired, living in Florida part time and a forty foot boat at Everett Marina part of the time. Her son has lived in Japan, Prague, New York. Her daughter has a ski rental shop in Steamboat Springs. Cully's life is continuing joyfully. It was thrilling to make this connection with such a kind, beautiful, talented, generous person again after all these years.

Death happens right in the middle of life, our life. In the middle of babies being born, heat waves, or triple hitters. In the middle of Claire being told your cancer is gone. Life goes on gently, passionately, confusedly, delightfully.

Ian's ninety pound friend, Nila, had an 8 lb 11 oz baby Olivia.
A tenth of her body weight.
Lisa is down to counting hours until her peanut is born.
Sandy is off to Dragon Boat races in Victoria this weekend.
She's a rower not a watcher. You passionate girl you.
Ian is preparing for the gift show in beautiful downtown Seattle.
Connor rode a horse.
We added a book Andrew mentioned to the book club reading list.
Brittany is off to college.
Art heals.
I found two delightful place names while doing my job:
Fruit Hill Red Bridge Road in Crofton KY
Right Fork Maces Creek Road in Viper KY
Makes me want to go to KY.
Our local weather site mentioned OK. The Midwest is still sizzling, which means the Northwest...isn't. There was an interesting note today that the state of Oklahoma just set a U.S. national record for a state's highest average temperature in a month. Oklahoma averaged 89.1 degrees for the entire month of July, breaking the old record of 88.1. But what I found interesting was that the old record was set in 1954. 1954 was a record month in Washington too, but on the flip side -- it was among the coldest on record. Most of the cold records we've been chasing this spring and summer were set in 1954. In that year, there were only two days that reached the 80 degree mark, and that was it. This summer, Seattle has had five days at 80 or better with a high water mark of 84. If the 84 holds as our warmest summer temperature, it would tie with 1957 for second-lowest max summer temp.

Chicken gets cooked. Movies get watched. Facebook get read.
I go to work, come home, write on this blog, go to book club.
So far for sixty-five years I have woke up and lived.
I laugh, sigh, cringe, bake, clean, and do a minimum of dusting.

Maybe that is where the horrified "no" comes from. Death appearing in our midst like a dead fly on our whipped cream life living concoction. Or the antiseptic quality of death in America. The distance Americans have to holding dead bodies. We have delegated the washing and preparing bodies for burial. We have delegated the closing of the eyes, the final folding of the hands.

How I love life. I love anticipating Greenleaf and The Taylor Family Reunion. I love anticipating what new tee-shirt design Mark will come up with or playdates with Connor. I love life and I remember fondly all the persons I have loved. All of my sons who died, husband, brother, wife, mother, father, niece, nephew, friends, in-laws, aunts, uncles.

On reflection I believe being horrified by death is right and proper. The death of someone we love, admire, or will miss should be a terrible experience. Yes we will all die. Yes we will remember fondly someone who has died. Yes dying is part of the cycle of being a human, but may we never never never never become used to it.

For now I chose life.

May your day be filled with living and maybe a fond remembrance of some one gone.