Life Unfathomable

Living in the face of the fairly humbling mystery of life.

One of the members of my chorus died last Thursday. I found out a couple of days ago.

I find myself haunted by her passing, silently wishing her well on her journey throughout the day. Little messages of sadness and goodwill sent intermittently into the universe.

She sang in the soprano section of the chorale group I joined over a year ago. I didn’t know her well. Her position was a few rows away from mine. She was kind and cordial when our paths crossed, and there was a quiet kinship in sharing the same music, learning the same notes, breathing the same songs.

She was also a dear friend of one of my own dear friends, who said more than once she hoped the two of us would get to know each other better someday.

I assumed there would be time.

The details of the accident are sketchy, but it appears she had been walking when a car somehow ended up on the sidewalk where she was waiting and killed her.

It is hard even to write those words.

Her family likely went from just expecting to see her home later that day to her being gone.

Just ... gone.

How do we live with this?

How do we make plans, stay present, and love deeply while knowing this possibility exists for every single person we love? They can be here, then just gone. How do we embrace the moment when the future contains such possibilities ... and inevitabilities?

I have felt dumbfounded.

I don’t know what to do with this grief. It doesn’t belong to a family member or a close friend. It belongs to a lovely and loved human being who stood a few rows away from me, singing the same notes, helping create something beautiful with the rest of us.

Perhaps that is enough.

Maybe every life that brushes against ours leaves invisible threads behind. Most of the time we don’t notice them. We move through our days assuming there will be another rehearsal, another concert, another chance to smile at someone in passing.

Then suddenly there isn’t.

Yet somehow their beautiful threads remain, resting gently on our skin.

What haunts me is not only that she died, but how ordinary the day must have seemed before it happened.

A husband probably making plans with his wife.

A woman standing on a sidewalk.

A future that seemed intact.

Then one moment later, everything changed.

One thing I am doing today is making a few short videos for my husband to keep on his phone. I want him to have little reminders of how loved he is and always has been, so that if I leave first, he will never have to wonder or forget. He will always know.

It feels like a small thing to do in the face of something so large.

But perhaps that is how we live with what we cannot fathom and the pain can follow. We persist. We love anyway.

By saying the kind word.

Making the phone call.

Forgiving a little sooner.

Telling people we love them while we still can. Creating memories.

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So today I am thinking of a lovely woman I knew only a little, but whose presence was appreciated by me and so many.

I am wishing her peace on whatever journey comes next.

I am holding her husband, her friends, and her family so close in my heart.

And I am grateful for another ordinary day, which lately does not feel ordinary at all.

Life is fragile.

Love endures.

Life is both the beauty and the pain.

It is love that helps us survive.

With 💜

Dove Wilson

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If you’ve experienced a loss that changed how you think about life’s fragility, feel free to share what best helped you navigate it.

Diane (Dove) Wilson is a writer, choral singer, psychotherapist, coach, and speaker. For more information on her writing and work:
www.GrimardWilson.com