Writing more regularly on this blog this year hasn’t happened, since 2012 started in a way that I could never have begun to imagine. My sister in-law Erica passed away on January 28th, after being in a coma for 10 days. She was 24 years old, and we have no idea why. None. She seemed to have a flu, and she just never woke up.
My wife and my in-laws have been, of course, devastated. How do you even begin to grapple with this? A day at a time, with a steady supply of soup, hugs, and kleenex. Or, more simply, you don’t. There is no perspective in the middle of it, you just get by.
This is a moment where words—something I fancy myself good at—just fail. Thus my blog silence. I couldn’t start writing here again without try to grapple with this abberation; with this young, vital woman taken from this world far too soon. And yet every time I tried to assign words, to theologize or philosophize or spiritualize or find some type of life lesson in the void of this unthinkable thing, I’ve come up blank. Or just sworn, softly.
The thing itself cannot be spoken of, but I can begin to name how the world looks altered. One thing that is now perfectly clear is that every day is a gift; every single one. Today. Tomorrow. Yesterday. I would have assented to this idea before, but now it’s visceral.
Live today as though it were the only one you have, because it really is. Don’t let your plans for the future lull you into the notion that you’re owed tomorrow. Don’t forget to live today, the only day you’ve received.