Does it Ever Become Easy
She passed away at 52, a massive stroke, too young for that.
At 71 it seems to be happening more often, a friend, an acquaintance, a relative passing away. Cheryl was just 52, she’s my niece, my sister’s child, and in what I thought was good health. That is until a few months ago when she had her first stroke. After nine weeks in the hospital followed by almost a month of rehab, she was about to be released to an assisted living facility.
She lives 2,600 miles away, across the country in the Pacific Northwest. The last time we were together face to face was at her mother’s funeral 5 years ago, since then it’s mainly been text messages.
She died yesterday, after a second, and this time massive stroke, 3 days ago that left her in a coma. The doctors said she would not recover. I don’t know if knowing that made the news any easier.
I worry about my family, every illness, every time they take a trip; there is just too much dying going on in this world, too much pain. I want to see joy, and love, and newborn babies.
I thought the more times I said those words “I’m so sorry for your loss” the easier it would become, but maybe that’s not what I want. Instead, it should hurt, we shouldn’t become accustomed, numbed.
We are separated now and I feel the gap, the wound, but soon it will find its rightful place, no longer painful, yet not forgotten, healed with time and reflection.
