Life and Death

We just had a fabulous evening out with our precious friends! We watched a movie, ate pizza, and laughed at our children running amok. Somewhere in that time of vitality, my mother's best friend passed away. Oh, you know, it wasn't completely unexpected, but nonetheless, a person who was here is no longer. Death. Dead. Period. Final.

This woman was a childhood friend of my mother. My mom credits her knowledge of Jesus and her path to salvation as a direct result of a friendship with this woman and her family. They have kept in close touch throughout the years. They have had babies, marriages, divorces, good times, and bad times in their 30+ years of friendship. Suprisingly enough, both of their mothers are still alive and kicking. My mother's BFF, as I will now call her, had a very aggressive form of cancer. We found out about it around this time last year. Last year! One year. Perfectly healthy. Wasted away. When I think about this too deeply, it makes me confused. My mother is 52 (sorry, Mom!). She is young, she has grandchildren, she teaches school, she dates her husband, she chauffeurs her children about, she visits for the holidays. 52 is not a time to wilt away into nothingness. Why does this woman not get to see her children and grandchildren grow? Why is her own mother surviving her?!?

I remember when we all found out. There is so much hope. "I am going to beat this". "I'm fine. Really". And the tests keep coming back worse and worse. The hair goes. But not the smile. Not the fierce determination. Until one day, it does. We just saw mom's BFF 6 days ago. She had aged 20 years. She shuffled around the house in her PJs, and she just looked like a shell of herself. She could hardly keep anything down, and she appeared to get confused easily. When you snuck a peek at her, she seemed lost. Or perhaps like she had just retreated into herself.

I don't understand death. This person was alive. She existed. Yesterday she was here and today she is not. Yes, yes, I know all about the spirit being eternal, and your legacy lives on. Yadda yadda. But she physically is. not. here. My husband said he had a feeling that Saturday was going to be the last time we saw her. I don't know where that intuition comes from. I did not feel that way. I really thought she was going to be fine. This was a bad point, but she had months to go. I feel so silly now. I think I saw it, but I didn't want to.

It feels so narcissistic to talk about this as if I am even remotely affected. I hurt for my mother, who lost her best friend. I ponder my own best friend, and wonder if we will be gabbing together about our arthritis and creaky knees well into our 80s. I send waves of concern and sympathy to her children, who are going to navigate the waters of adulthood without her presence and wisdom. And, again, I say, death doesn't make sense to me. How can one person be out running errands, looking forward to the night to come, while another takes her last breath?

I ran across this poem about death by Emily Bronte. I really like the last stanza. I think because of the imagery of death being rotten and moldy and putrid. It becomes manure. And manure stinks. But we can't grow rich young trees without manure.

Death by Emily Bronte
Death! that struck when I was most confiding
In my certain faith of joy to be -
Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing
From the fresh root of Eternity!

Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly,
Full of sap, and full of silver dew;
Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;
Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.

Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;
Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;
But, within its parent's kindly bosom,
Flowed for ever Life's restoring-tide.

Little mourned I for the parted gladness,
For the vacant nest and silent song -
Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;
Whispering, " Winter will not linger long!"

And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing,
Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;
Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing,
Lavished glory on that second May!

High it rose - no winged grief could sweep it;
Sin was scared to distance with its shine;
Love, and its own life, had power to keep it
From all wrong - from every blight but thine!

Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish;
Evening's gentle air may still restore -
No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish -
Time, for me, must never blossom more!

Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish
Where that perished sapling used to be;
Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish
That from which it sprung - Eternity.

To stop before I become too maudlin, I am going to shut my computer, call my mom and cry with her, kiss my babies, give my husband a hug, and go to sleep. And, I am going to enjoy my world of friends and family. They are so precious to me, and unfortunately, I don't get them forever.