Lion and Magic Boy

First, a couple of points of business:

Just so you know, the word “hill” when referred to as having anything to do with bicycles, me riding bicycles, cycling, or any of the above refers strictly to anything above a gentle 1% grade. Or to be more specific, especially later in the ride, “hill” means anything that’s actually level, or isn’t actually down. Such hills are often glimpsed from afar and as such in their distance look possibly tiny, but after Sisyphus is sighted rolling a boulder up it, such hill becomes decidedly larger, progressively so.

Next: It was a little eerie and certainly unexpected tonight when, walking into a local restaurant, I was suddenly finding Serena coming over to hug me because she’s there with The Ex and Eric, having dinner. What are the odds? Eric was decidedly displeased that he was not going with me, poor boy.

On to the business at hand:

Earlier today I had a compelling memory of a woman I knew last year in Colorado. Her name was Karen, and when I met her she was recovering from some really invasive treatments for a rare form of cancer. Her children were both classmates of my children: one in Nathaniel’s class, a truly fine cellist, and the other in Serena’s kindergarten, going on to the first grade that Serena would have been in had we stayed there.

Karen was amazing. I liked her instantly, as she was warm and welcoming when we all came over for a playdate one afternoon despite her very delicate condition. She had an energy about her that I liked very much, and I imagined us becoming friends. Karen had a lot of friends in the school, as she turned those same sparkling eyes and warm attention to everyone she met, as near as I could tell.

Months later Karen wasn’t doing so well, and it was clear not long afterward that she wasn’t going to make it.

Incredibly, her husband Jonathan blogged the entire process for all Karen’s many friends and acquaintances to read and stay connected. I’m sure it was therapeutic for him as well, but it really gave everyone a sense of what the dying process is all about.

Karen died in her home a little more than a year ago. I regret that we never became the friends I had hoped to be, but her life became too full of death in order to have time for new beginnings other than her own. Even with my perceptions of death and life and the meaning it has, I was still greatly touched by watching this family gently traverse a process few really get to see up close, let alone touch and be a part of.

I can’t help but think that was part of Karen’s gift to those around her.