When Death Comes

when death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse   to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox   when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,   I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?   And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility,   and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular,   and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence,   and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth.   When it's over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.   When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real.   I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.   I don't want to end up simply having visited this world
Mary Oliver When Death Comes

Yesterday I received very tragic news. News that was not unexpected despite hope held and prayers said. My brave, strong, smart, beautiful friend lost her fight and this world lost an exceptional soul. Yesterday I was sad. Then numb. Today I'm sad and I'm red hot angry. Fuck cancer! Not eloquent, I know, but I'm not feeling my words right now.

My faith is tested when I see someone with so many hopes and dreams...someone doing such good in this world...someone investing in their health...taken senselessly and too soon. And yet at the end of the day I prayed for the peaceful repose of her soul and a happy reunion with her parents. Her mother is gone only a year. Amy spent a year championing her mother during her fight only to bury her and immediately start her own. I cannot think of anything crueler.

Sunday I picked up a card she'd sent me about a month ago. It was on a shelf in the living room. I almost threw it away, but I put it in the keep pile. It was written in her whimsical signature script with wit and warmth. She had gotten quiet since August when we had to cancel our girl's weekend, but I tried to keep sending her affirmations, notes, little gifts. I understood the pull back. In her note, she was thanking me for a book I sent and checking in as if she weren't counting her days. She signed off by saying that the fight was getting tougher, but she wasn't done with it. She passed Sunday night. I'm beyond grateful I kept the note.

Last night, I slept fitfully if at all. In the dark, my mind went to the scary places. You all know them. I know you do. I fought hard to go to the light...to remember the good times, and in doing so I was filled with gratitude that I showed up how and when I did. It's all we can do until death comes for us.