Funerals are not fun. Especially for someone who would be considered still young at age 51. You usually don’t expect to have to go to a funeral for such a man until another 20 or 25 years have passed. I figure anything beyond 75 is a bonus so dropping dead at age 51 seems cruelly wasteful. And yet that’s what happened. Here one day, gone the next.
The man in question was someone I only knew peripherally. He was the father of my son’s best friend. I talked to him only twice that I can recall, so I’m not feeling any great personal sadness at the loss. I feel sadness for my son’s friend’s grief at his loss, of course.
The only profound thing that comes from such an occurance as a sudden death is the realization that we have to seize each day we have and not waste a moment we are given. Every day is a gift that we get to unwrap and enjoy. Whining and complaining about the various things that happen is a waste of the gifted day. Not to sound too Pollyanna-ish, but looking on the bright side is a whole lot better than wasting even one minute of our allotted time among the living.
And, yes, I have my share of things to complain about and regret, but I figure I have far more good tings to outweigh the bad, so you’ll hear little complaining from me. I’m only 61 and I fully plan to reach 100, so I have along way to go before there will be any weeping at my funeral. There are still a lot of days to unwrap and enjoy. Carpe diem, indeed