Time—we never know how much of it we will have. We start off as happy babies; the world is our playground. Nothing seems impossible. Our parents are our safe harbor, and we know we are loved.
We grow up, and make our own lives. We follow our interests, go to school, get a job, possibly marry and have children of our own. The cycle starts over again, and we as new parents teach our own children as our parents taught us.
Life, jobs, grandchildren, pets; they go by in a whirl, and we feel just the same as ever. When we age, we begin to notice that our bodies are slowing down, our minds are not as quick as they used to be, but life is still good.
We start to lose our loved ones and our friends one by one. We become closer to our own end, and life becomes sweeter to us as we see more time behind us than in front of us.
One of our dear friends died yesterday. He was a much loved and respected member of our model railroad club. When his wife died of pneumonia a few years back, he became half of what he used to be. Their two cats were his companions, and instinctively closed ranks around him.
Months passed, and he was diagnosed with liver cancer and leukemia. He already had diabetes, and these two other diseases made him weak and thin. A few days ago he fell in his kitchen without his cell phone. He lay there all night until his brother found him the next morning.
He went immediately to Hospice. The Crankee Yankee has known him for years, and he went up to see him for what he felt might be the last time. As he could no longer talk, they held hands; The Crankee Yankee talked; he listened.
We found out that one of his Hospice nurses had fallen in love with his two cats, so she will give them a good and loving home. I know that he and his wife will love that.
I didn’t know him all that well, but I liked him and loved the times when we all got together. He was Irish to the core, and stubborn to boot. But we all loved him, and right now the world seems a smaller place without him in it.
We will miss you, Ed.