Mary Jo

A very dear friend of mine died yesterday.  Without warning.  Without goodbyes.  Without another day.

This time around, I am on the other side.  I am the one saying, “I will do whatever you need, whatever you want, whatever I can.”  I am the one feeling helpless.  I am the one feeling like life doesn’t make sense. 

Denial and numbness return.  I am guarding my heart from another bout with grief.  I live, eat, and breathe the pain of loss each day.  Shouldn’t I be accustomed to it?  Truth is I am.  I am too used to it, too comfortable, and too aware.  I know exactly where this road leads and I feel inept to help those who are now grieving the hardest for the absence of my friend. 

I quickly race to the computer to find out which entry of my journal was the last that she read.  March 23, 2007 “See Something More”.  I am struck to relate my words to a different life story:

At the end of a day, all I am left with is a day.  All I own is what I contribute to that day.  In the end, my life legacy will be a collection of these days.  Each one unique and dependent on what I give.  My sense of normal then is also contained within a day and how I take the ordinary, typical, natural routines of life and add awe to see something more.

I may feel helpless, but not hopeless.  These words describe my friend’s life as if I had written them just for her.  Her life legacy exemplified a loving spirit to listen, love and share a hug.  There is great hope in a life well-lived.  There is great comfort in a life shared generously with others.   

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