The Fragile

A friend of mine met his death yesterday at the young age of 43. He died in a head-on collision with another vehicle while traveling to have breakfast with some mutual friends. 

Experiences like these always make me introspective. I am laden with grief; sadness for the family he left behind, for the life he had yet to live and now will never get to, and more.   I am also deeply curious and introspective.  What were his thoughts in those last moments? Did he know he was crossing over?  And after he did, what was that like? Was he confused - feeling as if he was still living, but realizing slowly instead that his body no longer held him? I imagine him scratching his head in confusion:   wondering why he felt so untethered and lighter-than-air.    

I cannot say these things out loud. I must instead mourn his loss, which I do. He is not here anymore in this space - I cannot see him or hear him. I will participate in the ceremonies that honor his memory.  I will remember his smiles and his laughter with poignant detail.   

But this feeling of raw emptiness reminds me:  we are so very fragile.  Our lives, our breaths, our moments. They are like thin glass.  They break easily. We must work to cherish them more deeply; to intentionally hold them with caution, because they are so very delicate. And further, we must learn to celebrate them as they happen: with the people involved.   We can no longer afford to delay our celebration of life - we must not wait until the end. 

To celebrate the breaking of fragile glass is not to have ever appreciated its worth in the first place.