Death takes no holidays

I remember, as a teenager on vacation with my family, learning that my grandmother had died. Some 15 years later, while on another vacation trip, I was told my other grandmother had died.

When I left my home this year on Valentine’s Day for a year-long journey, I knew it was likely that news of the death of friends and possibly even one or more family members would be part of this trip. After all, I live with more than 100 people over the age of 80.

Being on the road, on a journey, constantly invites metaphors. Life itself, metaphorically, is an uncertain journey with death as the only unavoidable destination; and, though certain, death is itself a mystery to most of us.

My solo expedition drives home the metaphorical point that in our lifetimes we must often go on alone, leaving behind those with whom we’ve interacted and whom we will miss.

“I don’t suppose we’ll ever meet again,” observed a woman I spent time with this evening. A few minutes earlier she had revealed her age: 90; and I believe she was acknowledging both the fact that I’m not likely to ever return to Calgary and that she is not likely to ever leave.

When others have made similar suggestions, I have often observed that, “Life is long and takes many unpredictable twists and turns.” That notion occurred to me this evening; but the fallacy of such logic in this instance would have turned a light moment into a somber one. Knowing, as Robert Frost advises, that way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back to Calgary and even if I did it wouldn’t be until after this lovely lady’s likely lifespan will come to an end.

To a wanderer like me, all roads are the one less traveled. At every turn, I can safely say, “I may never pass this way again.” And to everyone I meet I should properly say, “We may never meet again.”

Last night I received word that the daughter of a good friend had died. Her passing was not unexpected and, as in many such circumstances, was viewed with relief because it marked the end of suffering.

It is her journey’s end.

But tomorrow I move on to a new destination, to a town I’ve never seen before and will most likely never see again after a visit that’s likely to seem too brief. I’ll cross paths with a few dozen more fellow travelers, many of whom are no longer very mobile; and I’ll make a few new friends whom I will not have time to get to know nearly so well as I would like.

I have to believe that brief encounters make up in quantity, somehow, for their brevity. It feels worthwhile; but the benefits are tinged with regret when I move on.

Robert Frost might have been thinking of the nature of wanderers – both metaphorical and actual, when he wrote:

I shall be telling this with a sigh
somewhere, ages and ages hence: 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -- 
I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference.