I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately, and by lately, I guess I mean for the last couple of years. Death sort of creeps and lurks around my life, making its presence known in ways that don’t so much make things completely unrecognizable, but more in ways to remind me that at any moment it could if it wanted to.

My Dad came very close to death at least once, maybe twice, in the last two years. I say maybe because the first time nobody came right out and said it; I was about to deliver my daughter and I suspect a few things were sugar coated for me because of that fact. But the second time we all knew it, and as my little family was hastily packing up the car to make the 2 day drive to his hospital bedside, along with regular clothes, I packed what we would wear to a funeral. Usually if I’m prepared for something, it doesn’t happen.

And it didn’t. Death just peeked into our family, flexed some muscle, and then went another way. But it his wake were my mom and dad, my brothers, my kids and nieces and nephews, all together, saying those important things so that if it had been the end, the last words would have been loving.

My husband lost his best friend last summer. Unexpected for sure, but at the same time not totally a surprise. He found his lifeless friend, spoke with 911, alerted his family, informed his friends, and supported (and continues to support) his sad, grieving mother. He experienced some of this with the girl his friend had been dating for a few months; a girl who wanted to control the situation, and who criticized my husband for calling the family while they were still at the ‘scene’. She, who had been in his life for a moment, was critical of my husband, who had been there a lifetime. And, as sad as I was for this girlfriend, so many others lost so much more. A mother lost her only son. An Uncle lost a nephew that was more like a brother. An ex-wife lost her first love, and the chance to ever be sorry for her role in their demise.

And my husband, in his strong and quiet way, was trying to shoulder the burden for all of them, all the while in his own world of pain. And with those critical words spoken to me about my husband’s actions, death took not just one friend, but two.

I know somebody whose life was taken by another’s hands. This was a remarkable woman, lit from within, whose whole life was spent serving God. And out of the horrible brutality of her death evolved a scholarship bearing her name; one loving, beautiful person reached out to others in mourning, wanting to honor a life instead of dwelling on a death, and she gave all of us who felt so helpless a way to feel like we were doing something. Just as our friend would have wanted it. And death, in this case, became a beginning as well as an end.

Now, today, I have the news of another friend’s passing. Honestly, to say ‘friend’ makes me feel a bit like a poser, because even though I’ve known him and his family as long as I’ve known anybody, it’s been 20 years since we spent time together on a regular basis. We reconnected over the holidays, and his FB page lists me as a friend, so it’s the word I will use, but his wall is full of messages from the real, day to day friends. And while I knew this man was a devoted father and loved by many, these messages on his wall have filled in so many blanks; I know a little bit more about his love for music, his unique sense of humor, the connections he’s  made with others living with diabetes. And his unending, unyielding, amazing love for his son.

Again, death lurks. It is here, preparing me for something, reminding me to appreciate the ones around me, and requiring my compassion for those far away who are in pain. Demanding that I press on through the silences to find some kind of word to extend to those whose lives will never be the same.