Too Young, Too Soon

Until a few years ago, I honestly say that I didn’t know death. I’d never lost a close friend or family member. I had only passing experiences with schoolmates who died unexpectedly. In some ways, it’s a blessed existance. But on the other hand, if you don’t experience death at an early age, you don’t learn how to grieve.

A few years ago, I lost three dear people in a matter of months. Each was, in ways, a father-figure to me, though none were related to me by blood or marriage. Illness cut short each of their lives. One died suddenly of a heart attack. One was diagnosed with cancer and died just a few weeks later. And the third fought cancer for nearly a year before it took his life.

But because each of those men were decades older than me, I was  able to take their passings in stride. I mourned the loss. I mourned their absence. I mourned that they should have many more years to spend with their families and friends. But my heart really went out to their families. I mourned the families losses, because it was and is their family who suffers the most.

But it wasn’t until earlier this year that I lost someone close to me who was my own age. His death seemed more premature. Death in your 40s seems much more unfair than death in your 70s.

Death touched me again this week. And again.

On Monday I learned about the death of an acquaintance. While we’d met on a couple occasions, I primarily knew her from afar. She lived an admirable life, but when I learned that she’d died–in her early 40s, leaving a husband and two yound children–it seemed unfair. This woman was strong, devout and dedicated to helping others. She’d successfully beaten cancer–or so it seemed–when an infection struck her down.

As this week has progressed, my mind keeps returning to thoughts of her death. They say God acts in mysterious ways, but I had a hard time understanding how God could take someone who was doing so much good. How can disease strike someone who’s so young and has so much more to accomplish in this world?

More difficult news arrived today. When I was least expecting it, I got word that a childhood friend died on Monday. Apparently she’d suffered from a brain tumor, was considered a survivor, then came out of remission.

S was my best friend for years until my family relocated. We continued to trade letters and periodically see one another before losing touch during college. Although we hadn’t spoken in years, I’d get irregular updates usually filtered through my mother. My Mom traded Christmas cards with S’s parents. S’s older sister was friends with the daughter of another of my family’s friends. News came in bits and pieces. I knew she’d graduated and gotten married, but not much more than that. I didn’t know she was childless. I didn’t know she worked in the same industry as I once worked. I didn’t know she was a passionate volunteer. I didn’t know she still was active in church, though I have fond memories of times that we spent at church together as young girls.

Just recently I was Googling out-of-touch friends. I Googled S, and found a few sites that mentioned her. Given that she lived nearby, I was surprised to see that she wasn’t signed up to attend her high school reunion. I came across a few sites that mentioned people who shared her name. Was she the author, the psychologist, the museum director, the attorney? I didn’t think so, but I didn’t know. Surely she wasn’t the person who graduated from high school in the 1970s (when we were still young). She wouldn’t be the person who was mentioned as a cancer-survivor. That couldn’t be her who was mention in several church’s prayer requests. (How odd that I didn’t make the connection, even though one such church was located in our childhood home town. “But that church is a different denomination,” I though, “It couldn’t be her.”)

When I Googled her, I stumbled across her email address. Perhaps I should email her, I thought. Wouldn’t she be surprised to hear from me? But then a bit of shyness set in. What would I say, after all of these years? No rush, I decided, we could reconnect when we’re older, and have fewer demands on our time. Now I regret not doing it, though I rationally know she probably started to slip away several weeks ago, and my message may not have reached her.

I always treasure the memories we shared. Although I haven’t seen in more than 20 years, I’ve still aways thought of her in the present tense. We didn’t interact with one another, but I still believed that those ties of friendship would endure. It sadness me to know that I missed the chance to reconnect with one of my childhood best friends.