I remember my mother-in-law lamenting that her calendar was regularly filling up with funerals for people that she knew. She noted that it was becoming rather depressing to realize that she had more friends and family who had already left this world than new acquaintances to replace them. She herself died when she was only a year older than I now am. She seemed so young and vital that losing her was shocking, especially coming just before Christmas. I still miss her along with all of the other departed souls who once made me laugh or think or just feel good. 

Death is as much part of the life experience as birth. We know it is inevitable for everyone but somehow the timing of it never feels right even if the person is very old. My grandfather died at the age of one hundred eight. He was very aware that his time to die might come at any moment once he turned ninety years old. He purchased a new suit to use in the event that he might pass. He often laughed that the clothing had become faded and threadbare in the eighteen years that ensued before he finally took his last breath. 

I had begun to take for granted that my grandfather would be around anytime that I wanted to see him. Our visits always left me feeling energized and calm. He had a way of speaking almost magical words of wisdom that went straight to my heart and soul. I was shocked when he drew his final breath. I was not ready for him to be gone even though I had reveled in his presence far longer than I had ever dared to believe was possible. 

There are people who seem to “get” us. They transcend superficialities in knowing exactly what we need from them. In an unspoken pact we feel as though we can let down our guard with them and just be ourselves even when we feel angry and grinchy. We love them and they love us. We somehow feel their presence even years after they have gone. They are so irreplaceable that even when we forge new relationships they are still in the center of our hearts. 

I don’t dwell on the people I have lost on most days. I get busy living life and seeming as though I may even have forgotten about them. Then from out of nowhere something will jog a precious memory that makes me smile or tugs at my heart with a sense of wonder. Somehow I see my loved ones more clearly after they are gone. I remember the goodness of them, easily forgetting times when they may have annoyed me. I am not building up a false picture of them in my mind, but rather getting to the essence of who they were and how they so positively impacted my life. 

I suppose that we all get so busy with the minutia of life that we quite often take the special people who are still with us for granted. We intend to tell them how much they mean to us but we have laundry to wash, bills to pay, tasks to perform that seem more demanding than stopping to make a phone call or write a note expressing our love. 

I often ask myself if my mother-in-law knew how much I enjoyed soaking in her knowledge and wisdom and encouragement over cups of tea. Did she understand how much I admired her and hung on her every word? Did my grandfather realize that he was a central source of security and comfort for me. Should I have told him that I often sought him out just to assuage my anxieties. He had such a calming effect on me and I never specifically thanked him for that. 

Life can feel listless and boring at times. We long for adventure, a change of pace from the mundane of day to day. Instead of using that time to tell people how much they impact us we pout over the slowness of routine. Then suddenly we get the news that a special person has died and the opportunity for sharing our feelings is gone. We can shout out how much we loved them with a tinge of regret that we did not utter those words sooner. 

Yes, I am pensive these days because with greater regularity people that I have known and loved are dying. Sometimes they experience long periods of pain and suffering before the end. I become afraid of seeing them in a reduced condition. I worry about what I should say, how I should act. How silly and even selfish of me it is to put off going to see them with excuses that I might be in the way if I make an effort to be with them. I need do little more that hug them, sit with them, speak to them of the happiness that they have given me. How difficult is that? Why am I so reticent and fearful?

None of us mean to ignore the very people who are most important to us. We just make reasonable excuses for our busy lives even when they are not really all that busy. We don’t use the conveniences that are available to us. We can sent a quick text, make a two minute call, send a card or letter, schedule a visit or make a plan to get together. Such should regularly be part of our routines. What can possibly be more important than telling someone how wonderful he or she has made our life?