Age takes a toll and time runs short

 

I spent Saturday at a memorial service for Mike, a friend from college, who died suddenly. It was a good service, lots of memories were shared, and I was grateful to have been there.

Mike wasn't the first of my friends from high school or college to pass. Three others preceded him, but each died years ago, when we were all in our mid-20s, and the rest of us could expect to live long, active lives. Two of those early deaths involved rare diseases and the third involved a freak workplace accident. The unusual circumstances involved provided some solace for the rest of us. 

And that's what makes Mike's death difficult for so many who shared the pleasure of knowing him. Mike was our age. He was the first in our group to die when older individuals are supposed to pass from natural causes. His death is a stark reminder that we have more days behind us than ahead of us. 

One could see it and feel it at Mike's memorial service. Gregarious men, ones who typically crack wise and share loud laughs, sat in silence, mumbling only a few words and offering feeble handshakes. A few sat silently, locked in a hundred-yard stare. I recognized the stare. I've worn it several times since learning of Mike's death. 

For those of us who shared our college years at Northern Illinois University with Mike, his death hit hard. It wasn't just the shock of the news or the realization we'll never again share a conversation with him. 

His death forced us to look again at the health issues many of us developed in recent years, the growing list of medications we take to manage conditions common among those advanced in their years, and the inventory of new pains we have in various parts. It's in the odd noises we make when doing once-simple tasks, like pushing ourselves up from a chair, lifting a fork, or taking a pee. 

It's there in those vacant, hundred-yard stares we present. It's as though we can hear the Grim Reaper passing near us and whispering, "Age takes a toll, and time runs short."

I met Mike at the student newspaper at NIU. Mike worked in the sports department, and I worked in the newsroom. We became friends and shared the experiences of college life in the early 1980s. I was 20 when I met Mike.

I'm in my sixth decade now, so are my friends from high school and college. Some are retired, many more are planning for the day they will leave the workforce. Most are parents, and many are grandparents. And all of that came sooner than expected.

We ponder Mike's death and wonder how we reached this point in time so quickly. More than 40 years rolled by, one after another. The young man I attended parties with and stood next to at football games, grew old and his body grew weak, until it gave out one night while he slept. 

I look at my reflection in the mirror and wonder when my body will give up. And will I be blessed to pass as I sleep in my bed?

Age takes a toll and time runs short.

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