I glanced at the calendar yesterday and realized today is my paternal Grandmother’s 127th birthday. Or would be if she hadn’t died just a couple months short of her century mark.
My father’s birthday is this Friday, which is also the anniversary of his death. He went out on his 85th, and I think he might have planned it that way, as much as you plan these things.
We grow up knowing that people die, some sooner than others. But we always think those close to us are going to live forever. Intellectually, we know that isn’t true. Emotionally, we reject that argument.
There seems to be somewhat of a preoccupation with death these days as the pandemic spreads COVID-19 around the world. People are getting sick; some are dying.
The projected totals scare some people. There’s a big difference between 10,000 or 100,000 deaths. We forget that each year 250,000-500,000 people die of influenza, because flu season is part of our normal rhythm, we don’t usually add up the numbers.
The totals aren’t really that important. It is one death per customer, no matter who you are. It can be from COVID-19, or it could be old age like my grandmother. Each person has a story, has people who care about them, who will miss them. This week I am missing my father and my grandmother. I guess that is part of being human.
This week is about more than death though. Friday is Good Friday, which means Sunday is Easter. As the world self-isolates to try and control the spread of the novel coronavirus, it is good to pause and remember what that means.
On Easter we are reminded that death is not the end. On that first Good Friday things looked pretty bleak. Then came Easter and the world discovered that God is still in control. That’s something worth remembering, especially these days.