Yesterday I lost a coworker at the writing center who was quite a bit younger than me. He was paraplegic and caught a cold and it went rapidly from there to pneumonia. I didn't even know him that well. He was the guy with the huge personality who dominated every conversation, who thought the best of everyone. And now he's gone and we're all staring at one another, prodding at the silences and wondering how they will be filled...
On the one hand, it's a terrible tragedy. On the other hand it is good that we get shaken once in awhile, lest we fall asleep, grow complacent, think ourselves immortal. There is an old saying that one should get busy living or get busy dying... Tony was busy living even when he was dying. It's an example for all of us, I think...
So don't wait to write that book you've been thinking about. Don't wait to paint that painting or begin that sculpture. Sometimes we stand back and wait as though someone will call on us, pick us for the team, give us permission to start... while the Tonys of the world wonders what we're waiting for.
This is exactly why, my friend, I elected to live 2500 miles away from everything and everyone I loved...except Roger. He would never admit the fragility of his immune system but we both know. And we are making SUCH hay as the sun shines. I think it was a blessing in diguise that he did such a highly dangerous job for so long; we already knew how quickly life can disappear. I am so sorry for the loss of your friend and I so appreciate your friendship.
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