We live. We love. We lose.

Loss is a terrible thing. As midlife women, we’re thankful for the lives we’ve lived so far, and chances are we’re hopeful and looking forward to at least a few more decades. Right?

Intertwined within the moments of our lives is the certainty of loss. We often exert so much energy into living that we tend to overlook the cessation of life but, this too, is our reality.

I’m grateful for the 55 years of life that I’ve lived, but I’m not done living. And part of that living will, sadly, be spent saying goodbye to loved ones as they transition from this life to the next.

Coping with death is not easy. As we age, so too do our loved ones. But transition itself is indiscriminate; it doesn’t just happen to the infirm — young or old, we’re all susceptible. 

With a father less than two weeks away from celebrating his 90th birthday, (and yes, there will be a celebration), the reality of death hovers in my thoughts like early morning fog suspended over a lake. The questions that I ponder probably take up more of my energy than is necessary, but still, I’m pensive.

“Do I tell Dad enough that I love him?”
“Does he know how much he means to me?”
“Have I expressed my gratitude for all he’s done for me?”
“Does he know how tremendously proud I am to be his daughter?”

He’s the man whose colorful tales planted the seed out of which grew my love of writing. He’s the man who quietly cheered me on from childhood to adulthood as I conjured up one hairbrained scheme after another that I was certain would make me a gazillionaire. He’s the man who colored my world with his beautiful, rich shade of cocoa. He’s my father, but even more than that, he’s my Daddy. 

*    *    *

This morning, a friend told me that her brother succumbed to cancer. Knowing that it was imminent didn’t make his transition any easier for her. Her grief is palpable, engulfing her very being. 

I may not have the right words to say to her right now . . .
I can’t stand in her shoes or walk the path of woe that she’s traversing . . .
I can’t fall back on memories of her brother . . . 

But . . . 

My prayers are with her. I’ve reached out to her with my heart. It’s a difficult time and her duration of grief isn’t on a timetable. She’ll grieve until she’s no longer grieving. And I’ll continue to be there for her — to acknowledge her feelings, to listen, to offer a shoulder or whatever she needs. 

I’ve been where she is. But this isn’t about me. 

The purpose of this post is simple:

Embrace the people in your life.

Embrace them with your words, with your actions, with your thoughts, with your loving arms and with all that’s within you. Tell them you love them. Tell them how much you love them. Make new memories together. Appreciate them. 

Tomorrow is a new day . . . but, unfortunately, it can also be a very different day.