November 1 is All Saints' Day, a time to remember those who have died. At Trinity and other churches you may find a list in the bulletin of those who've died in the past year; you'll hear prayers thanking God for the lives of these people. Since last November 1, I've lost several friends and relatives. Barry, neighbor and friend. Jay, one of Randy's cousins. Martin, husband of one of my cousins. Timothy, son of one of my cousins. Ron, husband of one of my cousins. Kiyumi, long-time neighbor. Neil, husband of a friend. Jim, one of Randy's uncles. And there are more I could name, people in the church that I didn't know well but I've played for their memorial services.
Perhaps this is why I was thinking the other day about my mother's death at age 65. I'm already older than that. While I know my age, I don't necessarily feel that old, so I can imagine a little about how she felt knowing she was not going to be around to do those things she had planned to do when she retired. And even more so, Randy's mom must have felt it wasn't right for her to die at 56. I don't want to be morbid, but I would like to live each day fully.
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