The Words We Never Tire of Hearing

I was in Walmartz buying groceries this afternoon when the text came saying her brother had died an hour earlier. He'd been at it for years, but the last few weeks his regular pilgrimages to the E.R. let us know it wasn't gonna be much longer. Still, it brings tears.

Two months ago one of her best friends, they'd been Best Friends since elementary school, went.

That same month another good friend's daughter passed. She was 56. She'd lost another some years earlier when, on her bicycle, a truck turned in front of her. It didn't make this one any easier.

At the high-school reunion six weeks ago the prettiest, smartest, most "successful" told her she had MS; it seemed incomprehensible. No one can say how long she has, but regardless, it's too soon.

Her Dad died a few years ago. At our age it feels like "just the other day." He'd gone to an assisted-living facility, of his own volition, where he met and fell in love at age 85. The woman was an artist -- in the most wonderful way. She'd sing at the dinner table -- Broadway tunes from the '40s mostly --  her soprano still clear and bright at age 86...inspiring the rest of the family, they often visited, to join in. She died in March.

I've written of this before: In my early thirties my wife was studying to be a nurse. As part of her training she rotated through various departments. One evening, during her stint in ICU, she came home and told how people often die in ICU. She described how they realize what's happening, and that it may be in the next few hours. But what has stuck with me was how many, she said, are saddened by having neglected to say, "I love you." And now it was too late.