A Farewell Dance...

I received some very sad news last night that has been on my mind and I think I should share. It's a reminder to me of how precious and vulnerable our lives and loves really are.

As you know, my friends Brian & Seema were married nine days ago in New Hampshire. Following the amazing weekend, Brian's grandparents, "Grandma & Grandpa D", were driving toward home after flying back to Michigan and were involved in an accident. Both of them suffered relatively minor injuries, although everyone was very concerned about Grandpa D's head injury, which required surgery. Grandma D had a broken ankle, but by the end of last weekend, it sounded like all would be well.

Unfortunately, as often happens as we grow older, a minor injury can become a major problem unexpectedly. Grandma D found herself suddenly short of breath after rising to use the restroom. Days, and several ups and downs later, she passed away Wednesday evening, surrounded by her family.

The image that I cannot get out of my head at the moment is Grandma & Grandpa D at the wedding. Brian and Seema chose to have a "generational dance" where all of the married couples at the reception came together on the dance floor. Every few moments, the DJ would say, "Would all of theose couples married less than 1 (5, 10, 15) year(s) please leave the floor." As the couples dropped off, it became clear that Grandma & Grandpa D were in it for the long haul. At the 50 year mark, there were only two couples left. At 53 years, the other couple dropped and Grandma & Grandpa were named the winners with 55 years of marriage. Afterward, Grandma D said to me in a mischevious whisper, "When it came down to just us & them...it was my cousin and I knew that I had her beat!"



55 years and still in love. Kim told me that, following the accident, both Grandma & Grandpa D said to her seperately that they each had the thought upon impact that their winning dance was their last together. Maybe it's because I'm getting older and the years feel like they are passing so much faster or because I'm getting married next month and can't begin to imagine losing this man that it took me my entire life to find, but my grief for Kim, Brian, Trudy, and especially Grandpa D is profound.

I'm convinced that the most difficult thing about growing older is the depth with which we are forced to recognize the transience, not only of our own existences, but of those that we love. I remember when I was younger feeling afraid and uncertain when I thought of my own death. Now, the fear grips hardest when I think of losing my Mom, or brother & sister, or Justin. When I think of how one errant driver or patch of black ice could make my world dark, it can be difficult to see any light. But I try to remember something that a friend said to me several years ago after I lost a good friend to breast cancer that brought me tremendous comfort. She said that our grief and pain are the reflections, the counterparts, to deep and abiding love, that in the mirror of our loss, we can see the depth of our love, and that love is the only method we have of measuring a life well-lived.

A full life is one where we love and are loved. It's cliche, but true nonetheless. I believe that my success in this life can be quantified only by how much I connect to others, whether they know how much I love them, and how deeply I allow that love to penetrate who I am.

I am so grateful for my community of friends and family. In the wake of my dear friends' loss, I feel compelled to remember how fragile our lives are and to make sure that those I love know it. To the family of Grandma D- I am so sorry for the loss that you've suffered and the grief that you feel, please know that my heart and prayers are with you.