Ten minutes before, you’re blissfully unaware of the wrecking ball about to hit your life. You’re sitting around the living room, watching TV, hanging with your dad and your grandpa, just chilling. You have big plans for today, but for now the down time is nice. No expectations, no pressure. Just life.
Eight minutes before, you’re looking back on your year. It’s been a long one, but things are starting to look up. The thought enters your mind that things can only get better. You’re actually feeling optimistic about the next few months.
Five minutes before, the phone rings. Your dad answers, but it just seems routine as he tells you it’s your aunt. You go back to doing what you were doing. Your grandpa gets up to refill his coffee. Your mom’s at the coffee table. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.
Three minutes before, however, you note your dad’s tone. It’s urgent, distressed. You can’t hear your aunt’s words, but she is definitely crying. From his side of the conversation, you can’t make out what’s happened, but an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You go in to tell your mom. She tries to pass it off as something else, but you can tell she’s bothered.
One minute before, neither of you can stand it anymore. The three of you make your way into the living room. Your dad pauses his conversation and suddenly all you know is someone’s died, someone’s died, but you don’t know who, and all you can think is, Who is it who is it who is it…
Then there’s the moment of, when the news falls off of his lips, and your day takes a sucker punch. You barely register your mom sinking down into the nearest chair, can’t tell that you’ve fallen to your knees, don’t see your grandpa stumbling out of the room into the kitchen. All you know is the tears falling down your face and the fact that this was not supposed to happen.
Of unexpected tragedy, I believe Lemony Snicket said it best: “if you haven’t [lost someone you loved], you cannot possibly imagine it.” It’s gut-wrenching. Heartbreaking. And it blindsides you.
I experienced this devastation of sudden loss this past weekend when I lost my uncle. He was my father’s oldest brother, only 64 years old, and was not nearly close to his time. Much of this past year has been teaching me about the very real concept of mortality, but this particular lesson was one I never saw coming.
The moment before, you’re riding on a high. Surely death is a lie. Surely you are invincible. Surely nothing could go wrong, and tragedy belongs to others. It could never happen to you.
Then the moment of, things are thrown into sharp perspective. All the things that mattered so much before now seem meaningless, fleeting. Time is more precious, because you never know when you’re going to run out of it: 19, 27, 64 or 82.
It all comes crashing over you like a flood, and you vow never to forget this moment, as much as you may want to. Though it may not soften the blow when it inevitably comes again, it will at least prepare you when it is finally your time to go.
