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.
