A couple weeks ago I had a conversation with a woman over the phone about her account and some help that she needed. We chatted about her son and her health. We laughed a little over a shared joke. Today her son came in to give me her death certificate. This meat sack we walk around in all day is so perilously close to the edge of oblivion every moment. Your heart can give out. Your cells can turn against you, mutating into cancer. A brilliant morning at the local deli or at work can be twisted into disaster.
The fable of living to a ripe old age, dying peacefully in your bed surrounded by children and grandchildren, seraphim at the bedpost - seems to be just that. We are here one minute, and then not. The earth keeps spinning, and the taxes still come due. When I was younger I imagined that when it would be done for me, the world would pause. But aside from the effect to friends and family, the trains will still run. Not quite the mark that any of us were hoping for.
I'm awfully maudlin tonight, my loves, and I'm sorry if these thoughts add weight to the collective sadness the world is experiencing. I have this black and white interpretation of what's fair that sometimes gets me in trouble. The pendulum seems to be stuck on the unfair side, probably lodged in the bodies of the innocent that seem to be stacking up like cord wood.