Not for anything that happened to me and not because it was the 55th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.
Nothing like that.
Instead, I opened a message on Facebook from one of my closest friends in the world.
"Cheryl died today."His wife of 39 years.
The mother of his three children, a woman who had been ill one way or another for most of her adult life. Her three kids -- a boy and two girls -- are older than she was when she got married in 1979. She considered being a mom the great joy of her life, but she didn't make it to grandmother.
People talk about three score and 10 as the expected Biblical lifespan. Cheryl didn't get the 10, and however long Mickey and their three children live, all they will have from her is memories.
It's not enough, but it isn't nothing either.
Unless Cheryl was mistaken in her beliefs -- beliefs I agree with, by the way -- she is happier now than she has ever been. In Paradise with Jesus and looking forward to the day she is reunited with her loved ones.
All the bad stuff -- fear, anxieties and the rest -- is gone now.
Or so we believe.
Instead of saying how much we miss her, we should say how happy we are she finished strong. How glad we are we have a friend to put in a good word for us.
I'm reminded of a short poem in one of Allen Drury's last books, the thoughts of an elderly man just before dying.
"The course is run, the race is done.
"I hardly knew it had begun
"... Son of a gun!"
How to end this?
There's really only one thing that comes to mind.
"Happy first birthday in Heaven, my friend. Maybe you live a billion years ... and more."
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