Too young, too old

An old friend from elementary and high school died unexpectedly last week, as most thirty-seven year-olds would. As I sat in the chapel for the funeral service, surrounded by his friends old and new, his family, and beloved colleagues from the job he held for his entire adult life, my mind was running overtime with questions. How will his parents and brothers adjust to this new normal? For which of these people has his death changed the trajectory of their lives? Are Hubby and I officially “that age” where we are only seeing friends at funerals? If I died today, have I created enough of the legacy I want to leave for my children? Am I the best wife/daughter/sister/friend that I can be?

The world will have to adjust to a much quieter version of itself; he was a walking exclamation mark. But I like to think that, as I recently discovered of my own mother’s seemingly-too-early passing, we planted a seed this afternoon rather than buried a man. A seed that, as long as we commit to it, will grow into a harvest of lives lived loudly and with love.

As the sun sets on this still-chilly spring day, this is the run-on sentence I’m taking to the bank: We are too old to be satisfied with a life running on auto-pilot, not seeking out and seizing purpose, meaning, joy and peace, not discovering the fulfillment found in encouraging others to do the same, allowing weak relationships to continue eroding, or be uninterested in leaving this world without having made a positive, lasting impression on those who have ever stepped into our 15-foot radius.

“Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.”
– Matthew 25:13


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