Death Again

Tomorrow I go to my sixth funeral of the year. I'll be consoling a very close friend as she buries her father, her one surviving parent. The man was 91 years old and after surviving a concentration camp, he led a full and happy life.

Today I spent the day with my 86 year old dad. We hit Empire City and poured dollar after dollar into the slot machines. (This is the only activity I find more deadly than staff development.) Yet, boring or not, I loved every second of the time I spent there. The joy on my dad's face, as he asks the machines to give him a winner, the anger when he doesn't get one and the pleasure when he does, is something I will always cherish. We made plans to repeat the day next week.

When attending a funeral, I always felt sorrow yet somewhat detached. I don't feel that way any more. Our lives have expiration dates and my goal at the moment is to cherish every part of mine, including the people that are most important to me.

(Picture--Killington, Vermont)