Last Wednesday a lot of people died on a little island. They say maybe 200,000. A number too big to contemplate.
Last Thursday an old woman died in her bed while her wedding soup simmered quietly in her kitchen.
I can't grasp the magnitude of many. But I can grasp the magnitude of one. She was there. And then she wasn't.
I can't really say that I will miss her. She was not the pleasant sort. And her family wasted no time in squabbling over her belongings, discussing it while her body lay in state a few feet away. It was sordid and ugly and... human. We cope by moving on. We must, because there is really no choice.
But as I watched the last week play out, it focused my thoughts again around the concept of now. Living now. And living the way we want to live. I wonder if she would have done anything differently if she would have known that Thursday was the end. Maybe. But maybe not. I wonder too if the 200,000 would have changed anything if they knew. One more hug. One more smile. One more... something.
As I write this, my feet are propped on a table that found its way to my living room from hers. A reminder perhaps, that waiting for one more whatever can't wait.
I thought of you and where you'd gone and the world spins madly on.
On Becoming My Grandmother
3 months ago