Moment

The wind topples a tree directly onto a truck, in which sits a man who is instantly killed, a man you have never met but who is a pillar of the community, a man whose wife and younger daughter you have been introduced to ever so briefly, so briefly you are sure they would not remember, a man who drove by your house on the very day he died and waved to Ron (who is building your new porch floor), and everyone is in shock, it was such a freak accident, the chances of it not happening so much greater than those of it happening, and you feel deep deep pain and sorrow for his family, and you are jarred back into the awareness of the brevity of life and the randomness of almost everything, and you go to an afternoon birthday party featuring hail and a rainbow and friends and neighbors and are glad to be surrounded by them all, and the next morning you have strong coffee and French toast and conversation with friends you don’t see nearly enough, and you are glad that every morning as your husband leaves the house you tell him you love him, sometimes running down the stairs to tell him again, often adding be careful, knowing that being and caring is all that any of us can do and what will be will be.