Lightning Crashes is a mid-1990s song about simultaneous deaths and births happening in a hospital. The anguish of a body's soul and purpose departing in one room, while nearby, inescapable cries of confusion and joy peal outward, infusing those around with joy over the wonders of creation.
I was engulfed in all of those emotions yesterday, along with a subtle reminder that the only way to beat back the marching of time is to use it to its fullest.
A beautiful man and long-time friend who had fought cancers for almost a decade succumbed to the disease. The timeline was familiar. Treatments and procedures could no longer stave off the inevitable. We had remained connected, and shared as we could. But the moment had come. I could not physically be there with other loved ones, but that mattered little. We'd said and made our peace.
That same morning, I got a text message. Fidel had entered the world! Mother and child were doing great, father was deliriously proud after a prolonged labor, and the micro-universe of their altered world was wrapped in love and promises. As with my deceased friend, I was unable to be at the hospital, but that was a selected choice. There would be enough people there, including the mother's father, who had been trying to reinsert himself into her world after some turbulence. I have my opinions of him, some of which are not very positive, but who knows? Maybe this life event can lead to a shift in perspective. A recognition that, as noted above, time marches on. Just because he'd made his ugly bed to sleep in doesn't mean he can't change the sheets, or the mattress, or even the room entirely. He just needs to want his own rebirth enough.
Which leads me to hearing that a long time friend and coworker had unexpectedly passed. The news came in a text, as many things do.
Pat passed away the message read.
I immediately reached out. Not to the family, of course, because they would be immersed in grief, but to those tied back to the source. It quickly became "heard it from", as these things do, but wasn't greatly separated from a name that wasn't always credible when I knew him thirty years ago. Which may or not be the case here.
Hope for the best; prepare for the worst.
And then a voice from heavens appeared on my phone. It was Pat, demonstrating firsthand that the rumors of her death were greatly exaggerated. We laughed about it, wondered who started the rumor, and caught up with the latest news and events.
Pat and I talk enough to stay abreast, but the entirety of these events had me going through a mental checklist and digital rolodex to see who I hadn't connected with in too long. Each name brought memories. Some names brought the delete button, mostly the business contacts that I would never hear from again. All were infusions into my time line that keeps marching onward.
Hopefully, it doesn't take a lightning crashed moment for me to do these reconnections again. But I'll welcome it the same if it does.