Suddenly everything changes

Me and Hedi

This picture was taken at Hedi's house, when we celebrated my 75th birthday a few years ago. One of the things she always did was buy me a rose; the one in the foreground is from her. 

Last week, Hedi underwent surgery to repair what started as a hernia and grew into a large hole in her diaphragm. She endured the surgery well, and she came home last Thursday. But something happened: she went to bed around 9:00pm and never woke up. I can't find out anything further because her husband Dan can't talk about it right now. But the one thing I know for sure is that she's gone. My dear friend of thirteen years has completed the other end of her "dash," 1943–2021.

Hedi lived in the same apartment complex as we do, and I met her not long after we moved here in early 2008. She was an accomplished seamstress and that's how I first met her. Over the years she has repaired or altered many items of clothing that I will now keep forever, just to help me remember her and what she could do with her sewing machine and her talent. She also joined me in the vegetable garden for several seasons.

It's one thing when we lose someone who was expected to die, like my mother who had numerous heart attacks before the final one. Mama was in a coma for over a week before she died, and we had time to get used to the idea that this was the one that would take her from us. Both of my sons died unexpectedly: Stephen of spinal meningitis that sickened him in the morning and killed him that night, and Chris, who died of a heart attack while jogging. When I think of how many times I've had to reconcile myself to a changed world in a short period of time, I am thinking I should know how to handle it by now. But I don't, I really don't, and I am now grieving over the loss of another dear friend.

Grief is normal and needs to be given time to process. It doesn't have to be a person or a beloved animal to trigger grief; it comes from loss in many different aspects of our lives. I am still grieving over the loss of that extracted tooth removed earlier this month, and although the recovery period is just about over, I still miss that old friend and explore the hole in my mouth often. There's no going back, though, unless I decide to spend a fortune and have an implant where the tooth was. I'm not going to do that, not at my age. I figure if you live long enough, you get accustomed to all the small (and not so small) changes that occur in one's body as it ages. Hedi and I had many conversations about that, and I was so looking forward to how she would blossom after recovering from that surgery. Instead, she died, and all the dreams I had of our adventures, once she would be strong enough, also die with her.

It's Memorial Day weekend here in the US, and many of us will be taking some time to remember those who died in active service defending our country. The cemeteries will be busier than usual, with lots of flags and flowers placed on graves. And there are plenty of us who will take the time to remember the loved ones we have lost over the years. It's a time of reflection, as well as the unofficial beginning of summer. The days are long and the nights short, and the official beginning of the season will happen in just a few weeks, on June 20th, three weeks from now. Then the days will begin to shorten and the nights lengthen, until we reach the end of September and begin the fall season. The cycle of seasons, the inevitable gradual change from one to the next, continues throughout the year, one following another, until we finish our own journey on the planet.

According to timeanddate.com, which has a date calculator along with lots of other fun things, I've been on the planet for 28,671 days, or 41,286,240 minutes. Now that's one way to estimate how much a million actually is: I've only been around for a little more than 41 million minutes! I don't even want to think of how much a trillion is: way more than I will ever grasp during my short little journey through life.

And here is a wonderful quote from one of my favorite poets, Maya Angelou, who has now passed herself, but she has this lovely message for those of us still here:

When I think of death, and of late the idea has come with alarming frequency, I seem at peace with the idea that a day will dawn when I no longer be among those living in this valley of strange humors.

 

I can accept the idea of my own demise, but I am unable to accept the death of anyone else. I find it impossible to let a friend or relative go into that country to no return. Disbelief becomes my close companion, and anger follows in its wake.

 

I answer the heroic question ‘Death, where is thy sting?’ with ‘It is here in my heart and mind and memories.'

And with that message, I will leave you for another week, and during this coming week I wish that every good thing will come to you, and that you will be filled with love and joy for all that we still enjoy each day. One of my favorite things is to visit with my electronic friends through your posts and comments.  Be well, dear friends, until we meet again.