I’ve written volumes about demystifying death, embracing it as a natural part of life. And yet, when it stumbles into my path, death surprises me.
Ray was a protégée of my favorite yoga instructor. He subbed for her when she was off at a training. Fifty-two years old, war veteran, bushy gray beard, twinkling eyes, straight-shooting, yet gentle in his teaching. I liked his class a lot. I thanked him for his pigeon poses and suggested his music might be too loud. His response was serenely gracious. Six days later, he died.
I almost wrote “death came out of the blue,” but no, death is always here on the ground, right next to us. We are just highly skilled at pretending otherwise.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 136: 122 words, TOTAL = 22,278; 37,722 remaining
Robin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs.