She Could Have Been Me

I quit my job last night.

I was on the fence about it for several weeks. And once I found out April had died my decision on what to do became crystal clear.

It was a seasonal job - one that management had extended an offer to continue beyond that - in retail. To be honest, I was good at the job. I am a people pleaser and can provide excellent customer service. Our customers really liked that because good customer service is sometimes hard to come by. I liked my co-workers too. They are a diverse and fun bunch of gals. I earned their respect quickly when they saw that I am a worker and was there to get stuff done. But...retail work is hard. Crazy schedules. And with the holiday's approaching the schedule just got crazier. Bob had a bunch of PTO to burn, so he was taking time off so that I could work day after day. I was becoming a cranky zombie. And we all know how the saying "When mama ain't happy..." goes.

I got the job because I don't want to feel owned by anyone anymore. Not a credit card company. Not a car loan company. Not a student loan company. I am tired of owing companies money. I want our family to be truly free of any and all financial obligations, and to live that way we need to be 100% debt free. I want us to get to the point where we can pay cash for just about everything. So, in order to do that I felt I had to get a part time (which ended up not really being part time, but almost full time) job. I still have all of my checks from the beginning of October uncashed sitting in a pile in a drawer. I wanted to collect a certain amount of money and then start paying off large chunks of this and that. (Don't worry the checks don't expire until February, so they are still going to be valid when I cash them.)

But working outside the home was hard for me. I have an immense amount of respect for working mamas who don't have the choice to quit their jobs and manage to do all of their career stuff, mama stuff, house stuff, etc...Seriously, you women are freaking Superheros.

But even though my goal of not owing "the man" anything is still a huge goal of mine and it is important that we accomplish it we can do it as a family over time instead of right now. The whole time I was working I felt this huge pull to be at home. Shift after shift I would get home, walk in the door, and tell myself that I really needed to quit my job because the sacrifice just wasn't worth it to me. And day after day I would walk out the door all the while knowing that my gut was telling me to stay home. (Obviously, I am an incredibly stubborn and slow learner because my gut has been offering me insight my whole life and I often choose to ignore it only to realize down the road that I should have listened to that internal voice of mine the instant it spoke to me.)

April's death has rocked me.

And it has rocked me not only because she was a beautiful, kind, wonderful person who was taken away from this earth way too early, but also because she could have been me.

Death has rocked me three times in the last two years. (Prior to these deaths I have very little experience with death personally. I still have 3 of 4 grandparents living, and the fourth grandparent died when I was very young leaving me with only sporadic memories. I still have all of my cousins, aunts, uncles, etc...) And in all of those instances those deaths had a profound impact on me for both the obvious reasons that people I knew were unequivocally affected by the death, but also because in everyone one of those cases I could have been the one in their shoes.


The first death rocked me the hardest. Some of my dearest and closest friends lost their daughter less than a month after her birth. It was an unfair and unjust death. (As if death is fair and just...) And I watched from a distance as we settled in to Las Cruces as they picked up the pieces of a shattered life. I sometimes wonder if there were days when their oldest, a sweet little boy with an infectious smile and an angelic voice, is what kept them moving forward. And I watched a Daddy pour his heart out on Facebook about the last moments of his daughter's life with tears streaming down my face as his anguish and heartbreak took on a life of their own through his poetic words. And I saw a Mama try to keep her emotion in check and close to her heart bearing her soul to only those absolutely closest to her. Trying to keep it in, I imagine, for the sake of all of those around her, but also because she is just the kinda gal who keeps things tucked away in secret pockets of her heart. The death of a child. Can you even imagine?

I could have been them.

The second death was a couple of months after we left Ohio. A mother that I had been on the PTA with when the kiddos were in public school was posting pictures of her and her husband on (if my memory serves me right) a Caribbean vacation having a blast and enjoying each other's company. Several weeks later he was dead. He had cancer that he did not know about and when doctors found it he had only weeks of life left. He didn't know this at the time though. I see that woman's posts on Facebook. I know that she struggles still with his death. And I think about her more often than she knows. She is a widow with two children my own children's ages.

I could have been her.

The third death is obviously April's death. Here is a vibrant woman. A mother, wife, sister, daughter, etc..She was 37 just like me. (Not younger like I thought.) Here is a woman who caught a strain of strep that spiraled out of control for some reason and she ended up dead because of it. Strep. A common virus that most people fight off every day, but for whatever reason this time she could not. One day she was healthy and living life. And then all of the sudden she wasn't.

I could have been her.

How is it that I still get to have my husband, children, and my own life and there are others that I know and, in some cases, love very much who do not? How does that work? Does God just pick us out of a lottery and decide who gets the misery of dealing with the death of a husband, child, or self?

And if it is a lottery of chance I find myself feeling guilty. How is it that I get to be so lucky? I am not better than any of these people. I am not kinder, or more just, or more sincere. I have not done more good works or deeds. There is nothing that separates me from these people whose lives have been torn apart. (Or in April's case - others lives have been torn apart.) Or is the joke really on me because my time of misery is coming, but I just don't know it yet? (Which I suppose is more likely the scenario as we are all going to die at some point.)

But death isn't supposed to be like this. It isn't supposed to happen to those we know. It is supposed to happen to other people. For us, it is supposed to happen to everyone we know in their old age and in their sleep. Isn't that the fairy-tale that is told to us as children? Isn't that the fairy-tale that we tell our children still? Death is supposed to come in the night. Silently and painlessly.

Oh, but age and experience tells us otherwise. There is reason that death is known as the grim reaper. Death rarely comes easily and painlessly. Death is hard and ugly. Death is mean. Death either comes quickly and violently or slowly and painfully. Death is rarely merciful.

So, how do I reconcile the guilt I feel about living while others I know do not get that privilege?

I have been up the last few nights thinking about this question, and I touched a bit on it yesterday in this post, but I feel compelled to share it again because it is so important to me.

I can live my life with purpose.

 I can stop doing the things that I don't love. And start doing the things I do.  I can cultivate the friendships that sustain me. I can get rid of the ones that do not. I can quit a job that isn't necessary in order to do a job that is not only necessary, but is where my heart is - being a stay a home mama and homemaker. Because not everyone women gets to do what her heart desires. April would give anything to have more time with her kids. I didn't know her very well, but I can guarantee that I know enough of her to know that this is true.

 I can love on my kiddos with purpose. I can pay attention to their words when they speak to me. I can just BE with them with all of me. Not the distracted me they so often get. I can marvel at each milestone they cross. I can celebrate their just being alive. Because not all parents get this privilege.

 I can cherish my husband more and honor the life we have built together one memory and decision at a time. I can look at him and know that we created this family together. And marvel at it. I can look at our life and marvel at it and know that we created this together as well. Through good times and bad. Not all wives get that privilege.

The things that we deem as a society as being important are not important. Stop buying into the lie that they are. You know deep inside what is most important to you. You carry that information around deep inside you, but you bury it because it may look so very different from the way that you are living now. And change is scary. And maybe you don't know if you are brave enough for that kinda change. But you are. Trust me. Because when you are dead you will wonder why you didn't live your life as you really wanted to. When you are dead all of the stuff that you allowed to take center stage of your life while dreaming of another more authentic life will seem like such a waste of an opportunity.

I don't  know if April's death, being the third one in the last two years, is what has brought about such a shift in my thought process, but something has been moved within me that cannot be put back. The other two deaths shifted me on the inside, but this death has taken that shift and moved it completely. I am not the same person that I was just a few days ago. It is as if the Butterfly Effect has taken flight within me and profoundly changed my life in ways that I couldn't have seen coming.

Her death is like a screaming message of how bullshit I live my life. How full of words I am, but so little action. Oh, sure...I am gonna do this and that and this and that...someday. HELLO?!  Who am I to think that I am gonna be granted someday?! Who am I to live my life as if I have a million somedays to just keep putting shit off? I am but dust in the wind. In this huge cosmic world I am but a speck of a speck of dust. Who do I think I am that I can plan for the future in such a way?

 I wonder if the dead watch the living and get so pissed off at us because we spend our lives doing things that aren't authentic to who we are because we invest too much of ourselves in useless, meaningless, crap that doesn't amount to jack squat.

That is the thought that I am going to carry with me from now on. Am I living a life and doing the things that are authentic to me RIGHT NOW? Because, in my mind, that is the only way to honor the dead. Living a life that is truly mine. Authentic to me, and NOT some version of how someone else thinks I should live my life. And living this life no matter what. No matter if it is hard. Or if it changes some of my relationships. Or if it means I veer off of the paths that I have set out upon.

Because I would bet my life that those three souls: the husband, the daughter, and the young woman would give anything to have another go at life again. To have the opportunity to do all of the things that I take for granted every.single.day.  I am not sure about much. But you better believe that I am sure about that.