"Sloppy raggedy-assed old life. I love it. I never want to die." - Dennis Trudell
My friend Mike died two weeks ago. Ninety seconds later, his tennis partner pounded the life right back into him, and, suddenly, life wins, 40-love.
I tried to play it cool when I visited him in the hospital, but underneath it all, I was a bit of a wreck. I kept thinking about that intimate moment of life-versus-death, that experience those two friends shared on the tennis court, . . . and I have no idea how either one can go on, unchanged.
I know I feel different.
I spent the last few moments of my dogs' lives with them, one dying at the loving hands of a vet, the other choosing his own exit. Despite how hard it was to stay there, to look them in the eyes and hold them, I would not trade those moments for anything. Crush my heart a thousand times, if that's the cost of living a well-loved life.
Walking around Holmes Lake this morning, Finn happily tugging on his leash so as not to miss a thing, I thought about those moments when life is intimate beyond measure, when our awareness is piqued by every small thing, both perceived and unseen. It is good to feel life, to let it move through and change us. And it is easy to do on the dam of a Midwestern lake with the brisk spring winds swirling around you.
Spring in the Midwest is a time to feel grateful. Everywhere, new life is bubbling up, pushing its way through the clotted, hard soil. When one thing dies, life always is at the ready, patching things up to make room for something new.
Life fills the holes, which is a good thing, even if we miss what was there once before.
More often than not, life wins, 40-love.
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