Extinguished-Ignited

Its been almost two years to the day since I lost my friend Jenny. One of the few things I remember about the day I heard of her death was driving to my friends' apartment right after hearing the news and being completely thrown off by the environment around me. Here was a bright, sunny, gorgeous spring day with life beginning all around me. Brand new buds were on the trees and green grass and dandelions blanketed what was a cold, bare, brown land only a few weeks before. I had to squint in the bright sunlight of the evening, lighter than it was outside for most of the winter. There is a certain feeling unique to midwesterners (and anyone who lives in a multi-climate place with extremes in all directions) that happens when the atmosphere changes to allow such life to come forward after a long hibernation. The best way to describe it is to say it feels like thawing out. Your skin warms, your blood warms, your heart opens and everything seems exciting, new and full of possibility. So here I was, on this spring day that embodied everything about the earth and the way it renews itself that I love and live for, driving to be with my friends so we could grieve over the loss of a life that had no business ending.
Today I learned that another light has gone out. My friend Nora, who I mentioned in a previous post has passed away after a 3 year battle with cancer. While I was not as close to Nora as I was to Jenny, a familiar devastating and almost eerie feeling has settled onto my heart today. They were both people so full of life whose contributions to the world around them were immeasurable. They were both energetic, full of humor and creativity and always saw the absolute best in life. In the dead of winter, Jenny would be the one to remind us about the buds on the trees. So the question I have today is why? Why would a place that has so much energy to recreate life every year for billions of years take two people away from their families and friends so soon after they got here? I do not have an answer to this.
But there is new life everywhere. And even on a day of grief both remembered and new, it been proven that life can reaffirm itself in the most unexpected ways.
Two years ago, after the long drive back from Milwaukee, working on two hours of self-medicated sleep the night before and knowing that I only had four more before having to get to work, I lay my head down on my pillow, praying for some rest. As soon as I closed my eyes and began to drift off, a picture of Jenny appeared, clear as day in my mind. She was in the hallway of our apartment, standing outside her bedroom door. She looked at me, smiled and laughed then turned and ran away. Life reminds us that we don't know. We watch it do its reappearing act every year then grieve when it leaves us, then celebrate when it comes back again. Maybe death is not an end. Maybe its just spring somewhere else.

Death is nothing ;
I have only passed into the room next door.

I am “me”; You are “you.”
What I was for you, I’m still that and always will be.
Give me the name that you have always given me.
Speak to me as you have always done.
Don’t use a different tone,
Don’t take a solemn or sad tone.

Keep on laughing about what used to make us laugh together.
Pray, smile, think about me, pray for me.
Be my name always heard at home
as it has always been,
without any emphasis of any kind, no shadow.

Life means what it has always meant.
Life is what it has always been.
The thread is not cut.

Why should I be out of your thoughts?
Simply because I’m out of your sight?
I wait for you.
I’m not far away, just across the path.
You see, all is well.

—from the french poet Charles Peguy