This weekend I went to a family friend’s 100th birthday celebration. I think it was the first time I’d ever been to a 100th birthday party and I am so glad I was able to be there. This woman is very special to me and my family, and someone who has touched so many lives in her 100 years.
But, of course, it had me thinking about mortality and death. And Boris. Because…duh.
It has me thinking…why do some people get 100 years and some people only get 70? Or 50? Or 8? Why did Boris only get 27? Why?! Why do babies die? Why do some people treat their bodies terribly and live long lives? Why do some of the kindest, most loving people die young and the meanest, terrible people live a long time?
And, what else could Boris have done in those extra 70 years of life if he’d gotten 100 years? What other memories could I have with him? What impact would he be able to make? Who would he be at 100? And, what if he’d only gotten a few more years…what if he’d made it to his 30s? What would those years have done? How would he have grown or changed? How much more love could I have given him?
I do not believe that everything happens for a reason. I think that is just a way for people to feel better about the terrible happenings of life. Like, maybe if this is for some bigger purpose or something good might come out of it then it is ok…I don’t buy it. I think we just have to find meaning and make our way forward with what happens to us.
And I may never stop asking why even though I know there is no real answer. It is so frustrating to not understand the cruelness of loss. I wish Boris could have gotten 100 years. But, I would even take just one more day. One more moment.