A 4-year-old buddy of mine and I were drawing on a blackboard over the weekend.
We were being quiet when she looked into my eyes and said:
“When I die, I want to remember drawing with you.”
Which was very sweet, but very ominous. Kids can be really creepy.
I told her she had a long time before she died. It’s what we both needed to hear, even if it’s not necessarily true.
Trust me: anything can happen. Yesterday was the first book club since one of our founding members abruptly died.
Matt was a runner, a tea enthusiast, an LGBT activist, and a Scrabble player at the state level.
Matt was in his 30s.
One day, he fell ill and went to the hospital. The doctors found basically nothing but cancer inside him.
He was gone within 2 weeks.
A bunch of our members know each other through a cancer support group (which he was not, ironically, in).
A few didn’t come to the meeting, maybe because the emotional wound still hurt.
Matt’s ottoman sat empty while we discussed the meh-ness of the book. I don’t think he’d’ve liked it, either.
I guess we’ll have to consult with him on the other side, if there is one.