Not the Usual

Most Mondays, I write about the weekend, which usually consists of fitness, food and fun.  But this weekend was different. Not because I did anything differently, but because of news I received on Friday afternoon.

This site was started a few years ago, and since that point, I've become more joyful, genuinely so.  I believe there is always more than one perspective to any situation and, for the most part, I choose to look at it "glass-half full" or, as I've been told (not in a nice way) with rose colored glasses.  And I'm okay with that. But there are a few things that happen where it's hard to have a different perspective, where there seems only one perspective is appropriate, which is "this really sucks." (Sorry for the language, Mom.)

One of those instances happened this weekend. I was driving to the Apple Store -- my phone was deleting contacts and I couldn't find them anywhere, not on the iCloud, not on my computer -- they were gone. To say I was frustrated is an understatement.  I had missed a call from my mom earlier in the day and hadn't had the chance to call back, when I recognized her number pop up on my screen. There was a pause on the other end and when I asked "what's wrong" I could tell that it wasn't a good call. 

Mom: "Sheila died."

Me: "What?" as I racked my brain trying to figure out what she was talking about.

Mom: "She went in for a procedure and she didn't wake up.  She's gone."

To give reference, Ms. Sheila is someone I've known for so long that I still add "Ms." to her title when I speak to her.  I'm in my 30s.  I've known Sheila and her girls since I was 5.  My mom took aerobics with her in the 80's and she's been our hairstylist for years.  Mom and I would drive north to see her, from DC nearly 2 hours, but it was a day of celebrating women.  We would drink coffee, have our hair done, have lunch with my aunts and do some shopping.  Sheila was the one who thought bangs would work with my face and talked me out of a super short cut I was eying a few months ago.  We loved her.  We trusted her.  And now, we miss her.

Sheila called to say she was going in for a routine procedure; she would need to reschedule the hair appointment.  No, no... it wasn't anything serious, she said, just a procedure. But she never woke up.  And just like that, she's gone.

It's taken me a few days to grasp the circumstances.  She has two girls -- close in age to Whitney and I.  She has grandchildren, of whom she was so proud.  We talked about building closets and travel. 

There are somethings that you just know, but there are something that set in once it's become a reality.  I know that we only have today -- tomorrow's not guaranteed, for anyone. But it takes the loss of someone special to show me that there are times when I should hold my tongue, have more patience and mind my complaintsTell my loved ones how much they mean to meLive each day like it is your last. Have no regrets. Eat dessert. Be kind. Say Thank You. And please.  And I'm sorry. Hold the door for a stranger. "Why?" you ask... "WHY NOT?"

We all get so wrapped up, myself included, in phone calls and meetings that we forget to be human and kind and loving.  As I type this, I wish that I had known the last time I saw Sheila would be the last time.  Isn't that what everyone says? I would have hugged her a little longer, because I never got the chance to tell her just how much I enjoyed her company, her friendship and her kindness. 

And with that, I leave you with this :: Why wait to do tomorrow what you can do today? xoxo