to die is easy to live is hard

I went to a funeral today, and I didn't bring my Kleenex. After all she was just the mother of one of my students; we had no real connection. But as I sat in the pew--on my mother's birthday of all days--I found myself somehow entering his pain. Earlier in the week he had been surprisingly smiling, bouncing around, making funeral arrangements at the church much like an adult. Laughing with his buddy.

When I saw him today, he was a child again even younger than his 12 years. This young man who had put on such a tough face in the last few days--was finally feeling. I was glad to see him letting others be the grown-ups, but his pain soaked over, and I began to wish I had packed my tissues.

The sea of pink at her funeral stood testament to her fight against breast cancer. In her blog, Tracy wrote, "It is easy to die, it is more difficult to live." I am sad today, but yet somehow more alive as I sit here reminded of my mortality, reminded that now is the only reality, the only certainty. Thank you Tracey for coming into my life, even at the end of yours.

Life is a gift. Too often we see it as our right--tomorrow somehow guaranteed.