Wifey got to work on Monday and found out that one of her co-workers passed away over the weekend. She was on a motorcycle on the FDR and lost control of the bike. Even though they operated on her for five hours and were successful in reviving her, they could not stabilize her. She was 33, had a permanent smile, and sweet. Sweet, not in the sense that she was overly nice or cute, but rather that she was very warm, endearing, and curious.
I didn't know Celina very well. Honestly, I only met her a handful of times at wifey's office functions. However, she was a vivid part of the stories wifey would bring home from work every night. "Can you believe what Celina said during this presentation?!" "Celina and I were brainstorming for a new project..." "...and Celina just looked at me and said 'you worry too much.'" She was a big part of wifey's work family, so I do feel connected to her by association.
When we finally went to bed on Monday night, wifey curled up in my arms and cried. She sobbed, wondering why Celina had to race with her boyfriend down the FDR, how this could have happened to someone who so innocent, why God made the cruel decision to stop her life short. She couldn't understand it; there was no reason for Celina to die, no cause to make her a martyr of. It was random and senseless and unnecessary.
In my head I was saying "you can't make sense of it." You just can't. There are much greater things at play than what you or I can see. You have to find the lesson in the sadness--that life is too precious and can be taken too easily--and take that lesson with you. And unfortunately the only way to truly understand this lesson is through pain.
The day left me with a strange feeling of my own mortality, because, like wifey said, it really felt senseless--maybe not senseless as much as brief. That life can be taken away with such great ease in the blink of eye. It also brought back every time that I've been out running and didn't look before crossing the street or didn't stay off the bike path. I realized that death can come very easily to anyone.
4 comments:
Death has such a permanence that makes life so fleeting. No one can predict when their time in this world is up. I guess that's why we all have to try to be as good animals to ourselves and our love ones as we can possibly be each and every day.
I'm sorry for you and your wife's loss.
"Out, out, brief candle" -- Macbeth.
Always seems poignant when speaking of the senselessness of death and its timing.
I'm sorry for your wife's loss.
I'm so sorry for your wife's loss, homie! :-(
Man, that's too bad. There are never answers for things like this. Just a bunch of Whys.
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