What I Learned From Death

Some of us are touched early by death, others have to wait.

When I was about eight years old I knew a woman named Rosemary Thorne. Tall and white-haired, she loved to create little wreaths out of twigs with dried flowers, and she loved photography, even if she was terrible at it. My clearest memories of her include one afternoon when I read a story aloud to the cozy, cluttered afternoon sunlight of her house. I can only imagine how broken and childish my reading must have been, but she smiled and seemed to enjoy it. A little while later she succumbed to the cancer that had tortured her body for years. My mother watched by her deathbed, and I looked on in frightened wonder.

Beauty in the graveyard, a photo by amalakar on Flickr.

Ms. Rosemary taught me to never lose an opportunity to bless others. I cried for days after she died, because I had only read one story to her. How many more opportunities were there to help and do good to this darling lady? Now I'd never have the chance again. That was probably a result of an overactive conscience, but it made a huge impression on me.