Today is a blustery day. I think it’s my friend Mark throwing a temper tantrum.
The other day, Mark told my husband he wasn’t feeling well, that he was going to lay down for a nap. He said he’d call us the next morning.
The next day his son called us – very distraught – Mark had died in his sleep that night.
Yeah, it happens that fast.
My husband and I get caught up in our petty day-to-day existence – something like this kind of grabs you out of that rut, makes you think about things. First, of course, comes the guilt – why didn’t I go over to have a corn beef sandwich with Mark on St Paddy’s?
Then the fear – my turn may be coming around… As my husband stood in Mark’s living room, friends gathering to fill the tiny house, the talk turned suddenly to life insurance.
And then the nostalgia – remember when… Mark was a colorful character, ’nuff said here.
Finally the loyalty of friends, plans for a wake, a good party, with lots of food, just like Mark would want.
Funerals are for the living, sure. Traditions keep us moving as a community. Especially in grief, it’s nice to be able to walk a path you know, feel the familiar stones under your feet, see familiar faces all around you.
But I’ll make a lemon meringue pie for Mark, because it was his favorite.