My sister called me yesterday while I was on my way to the memorial service of a mutual friend. During our conversation the topic of my blog came up and of how infrequent they now were. I explained that I was just not inspired to write as often anymore, but what I should have said was, I was still inspired to write but what I wanted to write about was not always inspirational. Somewhere amidst all this brokenness, sadness and disappointment I had lost my mojo to write and the loss of the person for whom this memorial service was for, was just one of the final straws that broke this writer’s back. Lately all I have wanted to write about could be considered as venting and complaining and while I understand that it’s perfectly okay to do so every once in a while, I had promised myself never to be that gal, at least not too often. But yesterday at the memorial service I was inspired.
The truth is, this wasn’t one of my closest friends, in fact she wasn’t even my friend. She was a coworker of my husband but those of you with partners will understand that sometimes you will become close and personal with the people your partners spend most of their days with, especially if it’s over a period of twenty plus years. Yes, I knew her very well, I liked and admired her, and I knew what she meant to the lives of her family and the people she worked with. So, I was touched and deeply moved as I listened to the life she lived as expressed through the words of her children and the other people who loved her. They reflected on how much she loved to laugh, sing and dance and her knack for planning celebrations to bring people together at home and at work. She was a people person, to that I can attest, and she loved plants, sports and travelling. They lamented on dreams unfulfilled, disappointments unresolved, potential unreached and how much they would miss her. I couldn’t help thinking I could be her; she could have been me. There was going to be a void in her family, and as they reminisced and spoke lovingly while they celebrated her life, she stood on a shelf now reduced to mere ashes. That’s the cycle of life, I knew it, I accepted it but still I stood quietly in the back of the room, and I cried. I cried for a life so well lived, a person so well loved, I mourned for a life taken way too soon.
So, this morning in bed during one of my daily reckonings, I thought about her and the life she lived. I spoke with my husband about our lives and what legacy and impact we would leave behind when we were gone. What will our loved ones say about the life we lived and where do we go from here? I said a prayer for her and her family and then I said a prayer for me and mine. Long after my husband had fallen back to sleep, I lay quietly in bed still awake, and I cried.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born, and a time to die…a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance…”Ecclesiastes 3: 1-2, 4