You got a lifetime.
I haven't blogged since Pennsic, which makes writing a new entry seem like a large task, an obligatory catchup on the backstory.
I've never been good at doing what's expected for me.
Right now, I'm working out in my head how to combine blue cheese and pears into a pizza topping. The cats are sacked out on the couches, curled next to Roland and I - one kitty each because sharing is nice. The roasted sugar pumpkin is cooling on the counter, and it's a random day of puttering about the house after Roland finally made it home in the wee hours of the morning from his week long business exile.
It was a rough week to be without Roland. I was sniffling my way through a garden-variety head cold, when I got a call from work and the world changed. My friend, K, was gone, killed tragically, in a car wreck on the way home from work. My friend that I mentored for seven years, worked with every day for seven years, went through hell and back again on a project, is gone.
We had a bakeoff at lunch Tuesday, and were giggling about cookies and silly prizes, while I tried not to think about how sick I was getting. I picked up my tupperware from her office and waved goodbye silently, not wanting to interrupt her phone call, and went home to crash on the couch. Now, she's gone, leaving behind two small children under the age of four.
I find comfort in my faith, but I am so tired of burying people who weren't finished. We lost P's father Rick last month. They were just about to break ground on their retirement home. Now, I've lost K. And, despite my fondness for various philosophers and religious texts, all that keeps running through my head is a comic book.
You lived what anybody gets, Bernie. You got a lifetime. No more. No less.
― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 7: Brief Lives
A lifetime doesn't promise a span of year, just a beginning and an end. I've been spending my time since Pennsic thinking about mine, trying to make more deliberate choices rather than habitually following the same activities and routine. This sharp grief is a painful underline, emphasizing spending your time wisely.
But life is what happens while you're making other plans, and now, sadly, my plans for next week involved another memorial.
I've never been good at doing what's expected for me.
Right now, I'm working out in my head how to combine blue cheese and pears into a pizza topping. The cats are sacked out on the couches, curled next to Roland and I - one kitty each because sharing is nice. The roasted sugar pumpkin is cooling on the counter, and it's a random day of puttering about the house after Roland finally made it home in the wee hours of the morning from his week long business exile.
It was a rough week to be without Roland. I was sniffling my way through a garden-variety head cold, when I got a call from work and the world changed. My friend, K, was gone, killed tragically, in a car wreck on the way home from work. My friend that I mentored for seven years, worked with every day for seven years, went through hell and back again on a project, is gone.
We had a bakeoff at lunch Tuesday, and were giggling about cookies and silly prizes, while I tried not to think about how sick I was getting. I picked up my tupperware from her office and waved goodbye silently, not wanting to interrupt her phone call, and went home to crash on the couch. Now, she's gone, leaving behind two small children under the age of four.
I find comfort in my faith, but I am so tired of burying people who weren't finished. We lost P's father Rick last month. They were just about to break ground on their retirement home. Now, I've lost K. And, despite my fondness for various philosophers and religious texts, all that keeps running through my head is a comic book.
You lived what anybody gets, Bernie. You got a lifetime. No more. No less.
― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 7: Brief Lives
A lifetime doesn't promise a span of year, just a beginning and an end. I've been spending my time since Pennsic thinking about mine, trying to make more deliberate choices rather than habitually following the same activities and routine. This sharp grief is a painful underline, emphasizing spending your time wisely.
But life is what happens while you're making other plans, and now, sadly, my plans for next week involved another memorial.