Lately, I've been thinking about death a lot. Or maybe not so much about death, per se, but about our quality of living, about our expectations of life... and about grieving. A friend of mine from college found out a month ago she has... oh, I probably won't get all the terminology right... but suffice it to say, she's got cancer bad. She has three young kids, like me, lived on the same dorm floor I did in college, got married the same summer I did... we even had our first teaching jobs at the same high school... and she took my mother's old job, when my mother became conference minister. I read her blog every morning. Read how she hopes her youngest son will have memories of her. (I keep a tissue box next to my computer now.) It's reconnected me with some college friends... and it turns out my old roommate is also dealing with the impending cancer death of her mother-in-law. And then, news reached me that one of our college professors was murdered in his home.
And me. I am far away. With enough time to contemplate how tenuous it all is. I could lock my doors and get a security system, yes, but that wouldn't keep out cancer. With all this time I have, I wonder if I am doing enough in this world or if I am doing too much. Most days, feeling both is the only balance I achieve.