Every day we are faced with subtle hints regarding our time here. We are also faced with flooringly overt reminders.

Someone I know died yesterday of, as far as they know, a blood clot.

I didn’t know her well at all, as I wish I could have, but I do know her family very well. I can’t wrap my head around the abruptness of the news. I’m sure it came without warning, as blot clots tend to do, or at least their symptoms do. Then again, even when you’re expecting something like death, it’s always sudden.

This morning, I find myself in a state of anticipation – like there is something I want to say, but can’t quite put the sentence together. I open my mouth to talk and my voice catches in my throat.

I took a gerontology class in college called Death and Dying, although as my professor, Julie Masters, says, “It’s more about life and living.” And it was. Really, it was about the different areas of death and dying, but more importantly, it was about how to be prepared in life. I was completely terrified of death until I took this class.

For our final project, pun intended, we had to plan our funeral, write out our Five Wishes, write out a living will, plan our memorial service, etc. It was extremely difficult, but strangely helpful. I’m a planner anyway, so it gave me a bit of peace.

This London trip becomes even more important to me.

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