Monday, July 9, 2012


Someone died yesterday. A beautiful, young, vibrant woman who I had the pleasure of meeting one evening two months ago.

She lived on my street and we met at one of our neighborhood ladies games nights.

She was one of those people that just seemed to draw everyone in. Her smile was infectious, her energy was positive. Her eyes lit up the room.

She was well loved by so many people.

And now - just like that - she's gone. Taken away from those who loved her in a tragic accident.

Yet the sun keeps on shining. The world keeps on spinning. People continue on with their lives - getting groceries, walking their dogs, laughing with friends, making supper for their families.

As if the world didn't just lose someone so precious.

But life for her husband - and the rest of her family and friends - won't just continue on as if nothing happened. How long until he laughs again - really laughs? How long until he doesn't feel the constant ache of agony in his gut? How long until just getting out of bed in the morning isn't so painful? 

I mourn for her loss. My heart breaks for her loved ones. My mind reaches for a way to make sense of this all. I struggle with WHY this had to happen.

And I cry. 

Not because I knew her well. But because now I never will. I cry because she will never have children. Because she will never run that full marathon she wanted to do once in her life. Because the world will never again see her smile, hear her laugh. Because our neighborhood will never again have the pleasure of her company. I cry because in a split second someone's life can be snuffed out. 

I cry because now there is a mother who will never again see her child and be able to give her a hug. I cry because there will now always be a vacant place at their family dinners. I cry because little children will no longer have this special auntie to play with. Because special occasions and holidays will always be tainted now with the reminder of who is no longer there to share them with. 

I cry because a husband will never again share his bed with his wife; will never hear her sweet voice or feel her gentle touch.

Thirty years of living ends in a single moment.

I just wish I knew why.

1 comment:

The Brandt Family said...

That's the truth. And it is SO sad. I'm sorry for her famiy's loss, her students loss and all those that new her.
I'm glad you had the chance to meet her. Sounds like she was a great woman.