Looking Back at 27
As of today, I am no longer 27 years old. Not that 27 was a very significant milestone in that it's not a multiple of 5 or 10; nevertheless, there was something about this past year of my life that made it a time of tremendous growth and change. It was only about a year ago that I moved back home from Seattle, but already Seattle feels like another life. So much has happened since then. My 27th year of life was one filled with a change in location and what feels like an unusually high number of deaths. However, it was also full of life in the form of new and renewed relationships and pregnancies. All this death and life surrounding me got me back to thinking of the value of life.
Another family member passed away last night. He fell into a coma after a sudden stroke and seizure. While I have to say I didn't know him well, he was still a part of my family and my family is hurting deeply now. Being at the hospital again reminded me of a few months ago when I was there for Grandpa. By the time I arrived, he had passed. I saw his body, but there was no life in it.
It's strange how a person can exist here on Earth one moment, then a heart, brain, or other organ will stop functioning and before you know it, the person no longer exists. Life becomes death so swiftly and subtly sometimes, as in an accident or passing away peacefully during sleep. It comes as such a shock that two states of being so completely opposite of each other can transform into their opposites so easily. The same holds true of the process of non-life becoming life. In a mere second, another human being is conceived. A few of my co-workers are now pregnant, and every week those bellies get more and more swollen: a physical confirmation of the impending changes to come. At least we usually get 9 months to adjust to that. Unfortunately, we don't usually get that much notice before someone passes away. I guess it's the suddenness of death on top of losing someone that cuts deeply.
It's normal and logical for humans to adapt to situations. Sometimes, though, we become so adapted that we become complacent. If we all had 9 months' notice before death, I'm sure we'd live those 9 months more passionately, compassionately, and lovingly. How do we get that same urgency every day without getting burnt out? I don't have the answer to that. I do know, though, that I try to thank God every morning for every little thing like breathing and that I can walk and talk. I have family and friends who love me, and I love them. I have a job, and when I'm hungry and thirsty, I can get food and drink. I have a roof over my head so that when it rains, I don't need to get soaked or borrow shelter.
I've learned this past year that life is fragile and valuable, and a high quality of life is rarer than most people seem to realize. It's best not to become too complacent about living or about the people you're used to seeing all the time. Nothing on this Earth remains exactly the same, whether it's because they change or because you change, or both. At 28, I hope to appreciate people and things as though I were 80 and without having to lose them all before realizing their value.
To all of my family and friends, past, present, and future: I love you so much. If I lose my health, my job, my possessions, everything, you will be the reason God leaves me on Earth. I look forward to another year with you.
Another family member passed away last night. He fell into a coma after a sudden stroke and seizure. While I have to say I didn't know him well, he was still a part of my family and my family is hurting deeply now. Being at the hospital again reminded me of a few months ago when I was there for Grandpa. By the time I arrived, he had passed. I saw his body, but there was no life in it.
It's strange how a person can exist here on Earth one moment, then a heart, brain, or other organ will stop functioning and before you know it, the person no longer exists. Life becomes death so swiftly and subtly sometimes, as in an accident or passing away peacefully during sleep. It comes as such a shock that two states of being so completely opposite of each other can transform into their opposites so easily. The same holds true of the process of non-life becoming life. In a mere second, another human being is conceived. A few of my co-workers are now pregnant, and every week those bellies get more and more swollen: a physical confirmation of the impending changes to come. At least we usually get 9 months to adjust to that. Unfortunately, we don't usually get that much notice before someone passes away. I guess it's the suddenness of death on top of losing someone that cuts deeply.
It's normal and logical for humans to adapt to situations. Sometimes, though, we become so adapted that we become complacent. If we all had 9 months' notice before death, I'm sure we'd live those 9 months more passionately, compassionately, and lovingly. How do we get that same urgency every day without getting burnt out? I don't have the answer to that. I do know, though, that I try to thank God every morning for every little thing like breathing and that I can walk and talk. I have family and friends who love me, and I love them. I have a job, and when I'm hungry and thirsty, I can get food and drink. I have a roof over my head so that when it rains, I don't need to get soaked or borrow shelter.
I've learned this past year that life is fragile and valuable, and a high quality of life is rarer than most people seem to realize. It's best not to become too complacent about living or about the people you're used to seeing all the time. Nothing on this Earth remains exactly the same, whether it's because they change or because you change, or both. At 28, I hope to appreciate people and things as though I were 80 and without having to lose them all before realizing their value.
To all of my family and friends, past, present, and future: I love you so much. If I lose my health, my job, my possessions, everything, you will be the reason God leaves me on Earth. I look forward to another year with you.
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