For the last two weeks, Kathy and I have thought of almost nothing else but my brother Steve and his well-being – hoping and praying (or should I say praying and hoping?) that he would recover from the tangle of health ills that put him in the hospital and even intensive care for a time. And we have been so thankful and relieved that he has come through all that so strongly and appears just about ready to leave the hospital.
Then yesterday afternoon, while I was working in my office at Carthage, my cell phone rang. It was Kathy, calling to choke out the shattering news that her cousin Pam had very suddenly and unexpectedly died earlier in the day. She was 57 years old.
I think the perfect word to describe this moment is that we were Blindsided. Completely and utterly blindsided. And even if certain questions are eventually answered about exactly what claimed the life of someone who seemed perfectly healthy, the mystery of WHY will always remain.
Earlier today, Kathy wrote something simple and profound on her Facebook page: “Still without words to describe the shocking news of my cousin Pam’s sudden death yesterday. Only 57 years old. Cherish everyone everyday.” I am haunted by those words because they speak to the great fragility that is part of being human. It is always a very real possibility that today is our last day – whether we’re battling back from a terrible illness, sitting at an intersection, or just out picking strawberries. My mom’s own sudden and unexpected death at the age of 58 was an incredibly potent reminder of this for everyone who knew her and loved her. Further back in my own life was the sudden and tragic death of a warm, sweet young man in Atlantic named Stuart Nichols who was killed in an accident on his family’s farm when he was in high school. Stuart was younger than I was when he was killed, and the moment I learned of his death . . . more than thirty years ago . . . is still seared into my soul. In Kathy’s own life are such lessons as well, including the death of one of her dearest Carthage friends, Mitch Spencer. (Mitch grew up in my dad’s last parish, so I knew Mitch as well – and his younger brother Matt eventually married my sister Randi. And it was at Mitch’s moving funeral that Kathy and I met for the first time.) Such stories remind us that we cannot take the precious gift of life for granted- nor can we take for granted the people we care about – nor assume that tomorrow will bring us another chance to tell them we love them.
pictured above: Flowers at the recent Marler wedding down in Chicago. The wedding reception was the last time that Kathy and I saw her cousin Pam.