Today I woke early with a baby whose little legs just can't seem to stay out of the crib slats. Today we did the early grocery run, had donuts on return, met some neighbor kids from across the street. It was kind of a usual day.
In the back of my mind, I think of my friends' days. One sweet friend lost her mother early this morning. Another family who have grown so special to us are attending their grandma's funeral.
How can it be possible that I change laundry and wipe noses as other people watch death or say good-byes?
I've had that thought before that every humdrum day is a major day in someone else's life: the birth of their child, the loss of a parent, a dream reached or gone, a friendship found; moving day, graduation day, wedding day, funeral.
Death, in particular, can come on us unawares and leave us winded and gasping. But it also serves to remind us that we as people are not commodities (what can you do for me?) or merely consumers (what do we need? what do we want? what can we have?) We are relational beings, meant to be with others and to feel each loss as though an irreplaceable part of us has gone.
Every time I brush death through the lives of others, I am reminded of my desire to fully love others now, to say things I would want them to know, to speak my admiration freely. Sometimes we settle for making peace before death, but why not speak living words that would bring peace and life as we live together? Easier said than done, I know.
Naptime is ending and people are stirring, crying for goldfish crackers and attention in general.
So good-bye to you. I hope that your day, whether it is just another rut in the wheel or a memorable moment, will be filled with grace for yourself and others.