Mortality

My friend Michael died on December 14, 2012. He was 50 years old.

On that day, 20 children and 6 adults were shot and killed at Sandy Hook Elementary school in Connecticut.

I just learned a few hours ago that the parent of one of "my" theater kids died in a car accident yesterday. She leaves behind a husband and six childen, ages ranging from 3 to 16.

Over the last several weeks, I have been working on the labyrinthean paperwork required in applying for Social Security Disability Benefits for my sister and her husband. My brother-in-law has multiple myeloma, and while we are hopeful and he is getting the best treatment available, it is scary for him and his family.

I will be making soup.

This is a hard winter.

I am cold, and cannot get warm.

mortality

My father said that when his father died, my dad suddenly had a new and immediate relationship with his own mortality.

It was as though all my dad's life, his father had stood between my dad and the Grim Reaper.

Somehow, even well into adulthood, our parents remain the Giants that we feared and revered all those years ago when we were small. Somehow, we still are small in their presence.

Somehow, embarrassingly, almost shamefully, there is comfort in that.

Like the smug sense of false security when speeding just behind a motorist who is speeding faster than you: surely he will be caught and I will escape because... he is ahead of me.

But this is not so.

Every once in a while, the siren wails for the car behind. And whether there be Giants ahead or between, be we ever so small, we are always seen.

Live with joy. Know that this moment is all that is certain; fill it.