Last week I received a shocking email from my mother-in-law that a family friend had lost her husband. He had a heart defect and collapsed on the treadmill. He was 46, healthy, finishing a kitchen remodel, planning on refinancing his house and then was gone. He leaves a wife and two young daughters behind.
I wasn't very close with him, probably only saw him a few times over the years we were friends because most of the times we got together were girls nights, but I saw her over Thanksgiving. She and the girls came by my mother-in-law's house to visit and meet Lil Bit for the first time.
I can't imagine how hard the past few days have been or what she is going through today as they bury her husband. I have tried to picture his face lying in the casket because my mind can't wrap around the finality of his death. I am still trying to truly grasp my father-in-law's death. There are times I think to send him a note or email him a picture and remember suddenly that he is forever, irrevocably gone.
When Chad leaves to go back to Iraq, it is emotional. The house is full of tiny signs of his presence, his watch laying next to the bed, a pair of shoes that didn't quite make it back into his closet, jalapenos and other spicy food in the fridge. The food gradually makes it to the trash. The shoes, socks and other wayward laundry are usually the first to be restored to order. Yet, the little touches like his watch tend to stay out almost until he comes home. I can't even bring myself to do his laundry just in case something happens and the dirty t-shirts in the wash are the last time I will ever smell him. The loss of him for a year is barely bearable because we anticipate an end. The fear of an eternal loss is beyond what I can let myself think or feel.
A sudden and devastating loss as my friend has had is a true reminder that we have no guarantees for tomorrow. My husband has emailed three times since he got back. Once just to tell me he made it and once to tell me he was still alive and then nothing for four days. He usually calls over the weekend and nothing. This morning I found out that they'd been on a Com's blackout for days. Usually a Com's blackout means someone died. Someone else isn't coming home. War zone or not, we expect them to return.
My dear husband told me things have been really rough between rockets, IEDs, catching bad guys and drunk drivers. Every day since he has been back has been fraught with risk, but for now he is safe. The reality is that every minute is a gift. He is in constant danger over there, but could come home and drop from an undiscovered aneurysm in his head. I could die in a car accident and leave him. That was perhaps the most sobering thought, that I might leave him with a young daughter to raise alone. Mmm, amusing and scary at the same time.
We all live like we're promised a tomorrow, a next week, another minute. We have to live that way or we'd spend our lives worrying about our death, but something can be said for a reminder to live life now. You don't have to spend money like you're about to die or party like the reaper comes tomorrow, but to think about the undone things in your life just in case.
If I died right this minute, what would be left unfinished? Lil Bit's pictures at Walgreen's would never get picked up. My husband wouldn't have an idea about how to pay our bills or even log into the bank website. My dad would never know how much I love him and miss him in my life. My desk would stay cluttered. My daughter's baby book would never get finished. The house would maintain its growing piles of clutter.
Mostly I'd be afraid of that my daughter would grow up without knowing me or being able to remember how much I love her. I hope to live long enough to see her get married, have children and watch those children grow. But there are no guarantees. I am thinking about leaving a letter or two to make sure that if the unexpected happens, they aren't left in the lurch.
I haven't wanted to intrude on this difficult day and call my friend whose day has been hard enough without having to hear any more platitudes no matter how sincerely offered. Like much of life, it just happened when we weren't looking.
I wasn't very close with him, probably only saw him a few times over the years we were friends because most of the times we got together were girls nights, but I saw her over Thanksgiving. She and the girls came by my mother-in-law's house to visit and meet Lil Bit for the first time.
I can't imagine how hard the past few days have been or what she is going through today as they bury her husband. I have tried to picture his face lying in the casket because my mind can't wrap around the finality of his death. I am still trying to truly grasp my father-in-law's death. There are times I think to send him a note or email him a picture and remember suddenly that he is forever, irrevocably gone.
When Chad leaves to go back to Iraq, it is emotional. The house is full of tiny signs of his presence, his watch laying next to the bed, a pair of shoes that didn't quite make it back into his closet, jalapenos and other spicy food in the fridge. The food gradually makes it to the trash. The shoes, socks and other wayward laundry are usually the first to be restored to order. Yet, the little touches like his watch tend to stay out almost until he comes home. I can't even bring myself to do his laundry just in case something happens and the dirty t-shirts in the wash are the last time I will ever smell him. The loss of him for a year is barely bearable because we anticipate an end. The fear of an eternal loss is beyond what I can let myself think or feel.
A sudden and devastating loss as my friend has had is a true reminder that we have no guarantees for tomorrow. My husband has emailed three times since he got back. Once just to tell me he made it and once to tell me he was still alive and then nothing for four days. He usually calls over the weekend and nothing. This morning I found out that they'd been on a Com's blackout for days. Usually a Com's blackout means someone died. Someone else isn't coming home. War zone or not, we expect them to return.
My dear husband told me things have been really rough between rockets, IEDs, catching bad guys and drunk drivers. Every day since he has been back has been fraught with risk, but for now he is safe. The reality is that every minute is a gift. He is in constant danger over there, but could come home and drop from an undiscovered aneurysm in his head. I could die in a car accident and leave him. That was perhaps the most sobering thought, that I might leave him with a young daughter to raise alone. Mmm, amusing and scary at the same time.
We all live like we're promised a tomorrow, a next week, another minute. We have to live that way or we'd spend our lives worrying about our death, but something can be said for a reminder to live life now. You don't have to spend money like you're about to die or party like the reaper comes tomorrow, but to think about the undone things in your life just in case.
If I died right this minute, what would be left unfinished? Lil Bit's pictures at Walgreen's would never get picked up. My husband wouldn't have an idea about how to pay our bills or even log into the bank website. My dad would never know how much I love him and miss him in my life. My desk would stay cluttered. My daughter's baby book would never get finished. The house would maintain its growing piles of clutter.
Mostly I'd be afraid of that my daughter would grow up without knowing me or being able to remember how much I love her. I hope to live long enough to see her get married, have children and watch those children grow. But there are no guarantees. I am thinking about leaving a letter or two to make sure that if the unexpected happens, they aren't left in the lurch.
I haven't wanted to intrude on this difficult day and call my friend whose day has been hard enough without having to hear any more platitudes no matter how sincerely offered. Like much of life, it just happened when we weren't looking.
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