What Matters.

In the very dark and early morning hours yesterday, around 4am, an apartment building a block over from mine caught fire.  Usually a light sleeper, I woke to no sirens, no ambulance or fire truck lights, no noise.  I never smelled any smoke, never knew a thing was out of place until, up with my alarm a few hours later, I noticed the traffic on my street was unusually heavy - even for rush hour.  I had to move my car due to construction and was hurrying to get myself dressed and downstairs before any road crews came along to ticket, or worse, tow my car.  As I tried to make my way around the block; moving my car to a "safe" parking spot, I realized that the street parallel to mine was completely blocked off - cop cars, news vans, the works.

Once I made it into the office I looked to the web to learn what was going on; which is when I learned of the fire, the six people left homeless because of it, and the one woman, in her mid-30's, who was pulled from her second floor apartment, already in cardiac arrest.  She was later pronounced dead at a local hospital.

This woman is a complete stranger to me.  I do not know her name, what she looked like.  I have no idea if I'd ever passed her on the street or stood behind her in a line at the nearest grocery store just a few blocks up from our neighborhood.  She and I may have easily been doing laundry at the laundromat together at some point, we likely took the same train in and out of the nearest T station together at least once in our days.  She is a complete mystery to me, and yet I have been haunted by her unfortunate death since I learned of it.

Because how easily it could have been me.

To state the obvious: we all know we're going to die someday.  But there's something different about realizing that in a sort of vague, intangible way versus sitting down and truly thinking about it.  And I can't stop thinking about this woman, this woman who was my age, and who very likely spent her last night on earth in a very routine and subdued manner, typical of most Tuesday nights.  The difference, of course, is that she went to sleep and never woke to another day.  I've been thinking about how random that fire was, her death.  I think about the phone calls her parents, her friends, her family, her coworkers must have received yesterday morning.  I imagine the utter shock and sheer heartbreak that her loved ones are going through.

About how much all of this life is a chance         

On Tuesday night I left work just a few minutes after 5pm.  Two co-workers and I walked out of the building together, on our way to meet a former co-worker at a nearby bar.  The four of us spent about an hour or two catching up.  Around 7pm, I left the group, making my way home in time for a 7:30 conference call for the non-profit I volunteer with.  Our call lasted a little over an hour.  When we were finished, I turned on the Olympics, having avoided all spoilers throughout the day, I was intent on seeing Shaun White's snowboarding runs.  I put my PJs on, putzed around the apartment straightening things up a bit.  I drank a cup of hot chocolate.  I wrote a blog post. I packed up my tote bag with my workout clothes, my lunch, and other sundries for the next day.  Just before 11pm I crawled into bed, to tired to read even a chapter of my current book.

What if that had been it? 

It puts so much in perspective doesn't it? The stuff that can irritate us or stress us out?  Not worth it. 

Or, as I read just recently: "The days go by with so many little things that don't seem to matter until they're no longer there and suddenly they're all that ever mattered."

So in honor of this woman that I never knew, and now never will know, I'm doing my best to pull my friends and family in a little closer, listening more, digging deep to find that reserve of patience we need sometimes.  I am working to keep perspective.  And of course, with Valentine's Day just around the corner, I'm reminding people that I love them.