Passage…

 

My uncle recently passed away. He was 71 and really lived a good life. I didn’t see him enough, and it makes me sad.

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Next month marks 10 years since my mom, his sister, passed. And I’m still sad about that. Pieces of me always will be. Every single day.
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It’s been less than a year since one of the loveliest ladies I’ve had the pleasure to know passed in the surgeries that followed a tragic car accident.

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I’m following a long-time friend’s nephew who is currently in hospice. He’s not even school age and has but days left. It’s absolutely tragic and heart-wrenching.

So why share all the doom and gloom?

To make the point. The point we always make in these circumstances.

It never stops being relevant.

I’ll never forget my last walk with my mom. She was too weak to do anything but walk down to the end of the driveway and back. But we did. It was spring, and we looked at flowers and trees and talked. We took our time and savored the blooms and the fading light. Later that night we watched “The Quiet Man” – she’d not seen it. The redhead in her didn’t find it as funny as my stepdad did.

I’d give most anything for one more evening like that with her. But I am SO glad that I got the one I did.

The only way you get those moments is to show up. To take the time.

I don’t have those moments with my uncle or my friend.

My friend and I had been putting off a hiking trip for some time – weather wasn’t right, timing was bad etc. Then it was too late. And I kick myself for that regularly.

My uncle had been sick for some time. Metastatic lung cancer will do that.

I didn’t even know he was ill. First I was angry – how did I not know? How did someone not fill me in? Then I got angry at the right person – why hadn’t I stayed in touch as I should have? Why haven’t I seen him in years?

I have to own that. I’ll not get to hear one of his stories ever again. He’ll never send another lighthouse photo. And I hate it. I hate that I let this time slip by and didn’t do anything about it.

Take the time. Make the time. It doesn’t exist. Count it as ‘me’ time – because one day you’ll be willing to trade all your pedicures and quiet baths for one last walk.

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