Do you ever sometimes think of statistics? Not in a formal sense really. More like, 1 out of 200 children you know will get cancer. I hope it's not mine. Or, 1 out of 500 parents you know will die while their children are still young. I hope it's not me. Like that? Being equally "brained" in math, I do.
So I'm sitting in the waiting hall while my mom has her first session of physical therapy, and I'm reading a local newspaper. I had written a satirically scathing letter to the Opinion page that was published last week and was looking for the rebuttal. No rebuttal. So I scanned the various articles of local interest.
I turned a page and saw a very nice picture of the husband of a friend of ours from Gymboree and My Gym and sporadic playdates over the years. The last time I saw him was with his son, Wonderboy's age, at baseball last spring. Of course he was a coach, because he was a huge baseball fan.
Then, shocked to the core, I saw over his picture the word, "Obituary".
The beautiful tribute written did not say how he passed. Only the sweet highlights of his all too brief 41 years.
This is the third parent we've known who has died in the last 4 years. The first was a mom who died of cancer in her early forties, leaving two small children. The second was last year, just before my dad passed. Morrie was killed when a young couple hit his car, causing it to fly and flip over the median to the other side of the freeway where an oncoming semi slammed into him, causing his car to burst into flames. He left four children, the fourth born the day he died.
There was a fourth. A dad of Wonderboy's school chum was killed in a motorcycle accident 2 years ago. But we didn't know him, even though that was a close connection.
Now Sam. Who leaves two sons. Both with the same birthday, two years apart. And his lovely wife.
These are too many. Statistically and personally speaking.
Job 14:2 He springs up like a flower and withers away;
like a fleeting shadow, he does not endure.