Living.

A co-worker of mine died unexpectedly yesterday, suffering a fatal heart attack. He worked in a different division than I do and we were not particularly close.

Still.

I find myself in a state of utter shock and disbelief.

I just keep thinking of the day that was his last here on Earth; of how normal a day it must have been for him and his family until it was suddenly turned on its head and became anything but normal. He was here, and then he wasn’t. I wonder; had he been running late for work in the morning? Did he walk past some home project or a stack of papers on his way out the door and think “I’ll deal with that this weekend?” Was he running through a laundry list in his head as he showered and dressed – deciding what work projects needed priority, what needed buying at the grocery store, where he and his family would spend Thanksgiving? I think about what sticky notes might have been left on his desk at work, what to-do lists he’d jotted down on his notepad, what emails sit in his inbox, awaiting a reply that will never come.

As death often does, it makes me think about my own life. I am guilty – we all are – of always thinking I have plenty of time, immeasurable days left to accomplish the goals I have, to see the things I’d like to see, to experience the sorts of things I’d like to experience. But it doesn’t work that way. We know that, but can be so easily lulled into a routine that we forget. I look around at my desk and think about my own little scribbles, my personal and professional half-finished, half-started “to-do” lists. I wonder at times what I’m waiting for, how much time I’ll really get in this life.

I think about what my co-workers would find at my desk, what my parents would find in my apartment were something sudden to happen to me. Would they notice the paint chips I’ve got tacked up in my living room because I have every intention of getting around to “someday” repainting it? Would they peruse my beloved bookshelves and stacks of paperbacks, wondering which ones I’d read and loved and which had yet to be opened? Would they smile at my Red Sox memorabilia scattered throughout the apartment? Would they roll their eyes at my notorious habit of keeping tags on clothes even after I’ve worn them multiple times? Would anyone at work be able to make any sense of any of the notes I’d scribbled in various production meetings?

I’m guilty of the same things most humans are. I put things off, I say “someday.” I want to ride horses again. It is a past-time I miss more than any other hobby I’ve ever had, something that has always made me happy. To be fair to myself, I have been investigating farms north of the city. Part of the problem is where I live – there aren’t exactly equestrian centers in the heart of Boston – and the other issue is that 9 to 5 gig (which, really, turns in to a 7 to 6 gig if you factor in commuting times and morning routines).

But, still. I want to find a way. I need to find a way.

Lately, more than ever before, I miss my parents, my brother, and my immediate family every single day. I mean, of course, I’ve always wished we lived closer to one another but there were many years where I was so busy up and running to places like London and Boston and New York and backpacking throughout Europe that I didn’t quite yearn for home the way I do at present. Now, it’s all I want, a lot of what I think about. I’m not sure how to change the fact that there are so many miles between us, but I’m trying, I’m thinking, I’m working on it. I don’t want to see my Mom and Dad only a handful of times a year anymore. I want Sunday dinners together and random funny moments getting breakfast at my hometown’s local diner. I want to know I can have my Dad grill his excellent steaks on more than a few occasions a year, I want to hear my Mom say “Gaga you are funny” over milkshakes. I want to have her cook me fried chicken when I’m home. So if that means I travel more weekends to get down to New Jersey or Georgia so be it. It is important to me; it’s a priority in my life.

I believe there is a higher power who sends us a sort-of "hello" now and again when we might need it most. There are signs, guiding us ever so slightly, I’m sure of it. And I’m sure of it because I’m not sure I could get through the harder days of life without that faith, without knowing there’s a reason for all of this.

I feel like someone is trying to tell me something, to remind me to pay attention; this does not last forever.

As is my usual weekday routine, I was listening to NPR this morning as I got ready for work. Nora Ephron was on, discussing her new book: I Remember Nothing. This is the quote they ended her interview with, a few lines from the last chapter of her book:

"You do get to a certain point in life where you have to realistically, I think, understand that the days are getting shorter, and you can't put things off thinking you'll get to them someday," she says. "If you really want to do them, you better do them. There are simply too many people getting sick, and sooner or later you will. So I'm very much a believer in knowing what it is that you love doing so you can do a great deal of it."

Life is far too short, otherwise.