Perspective

I opened my e-mail this morning to multiple e-mails from people I actually know, as opposed to the 20+ spam e-mails I typically find.  It was exciting for only a moment.  The first e-mail I read was sent to inform me that a high school friend's dad passed away.  The second e-mail I read (which turned into a series of e-mails) was sent to inform me that a sorority sister passed away.  Both Tuesday night.  I'm finding myself swallowed in grief tonight.

My high school friend texted me over the weekend to let me know that her dad wasn't doing well, and that he had probably just a few days to live.  I can't say I was surprised about his passing, though that doesn't make the pain that I know she's feeling any less. 

My sorority sister dealt with an illness her entire life.  I remember in college she'd have to occasionally spend a couple of weeks at the hospital in Iowa City, but she always came back happy and seemingly healthy.  As I talked to Leigh on the phone this evening, I made a statement about the fact that we knew during college that her life expectancy was shorter than average ... but during college, 30 seemed so far away and the reality of her illness was never my reality.  She was one of those beautiful people, inside and out, with whom you couldn't help but be friends.  She was always in the center of the fun.  She and I lost touch after college, and I haven't seen her in years.  I think what makes me most sad today are my thoughts of her son - about Sara's age - who is left without her and who, sadly, won't remember much of her.  I simply cannot fathom.  For those who did remain close friends with her over the years, I know their grief far outweighs mine ... and even mine is heavy. 

I decided that I needed to pick up Sara early from school today, around 2:00.  We hit Target (detergent for me, shoes, dress, and pj's for her (all clearance, you know me)), and then Sonic's happy hour.  As we were walking from the car to the house, Sara managed to spill her entire cherry slush all over the garage floor.  She cried and cried out of pure devastation.  So we got back in the car, drove back to Sonic, and got a new cherry slush.  She'll never remember (or appreciate) the gesture, but it felt important to me in that moment to mend her broken heart (all it took this time was a 50 cent slush). 

Today was a day of perspective for me, as days like this -- fortunately and unfortunately -- always are.  Any tantrum-filled, tearful, unnecessarily dramatic moment with Sara will always be better than any moment without her.  I didn't need today's e-mails to make me aware of this fact, but they certainly gave me some perspective that I didn't have, or  perhaps simply chose to ignore, before I read them.