Loss and Life

Five minutes, Mary. Then bedtime. Okay?
Okay.

(Ten minutes later ...)

Four more minutes, Mary.

(Fifteen minutes later ....)

Mary, one more minute left.
No, FIVE!
No, we already had five. It's down to one.
NO!
Upstairs. Now. GO!
No. Five more minutes. FIVE MORE MINUTES! You go to sleep. YOU GO TO SLEEP! Daddy will take me up.

(I turn to Peter) No later than 8:30. Okay? OKAY?!

They nod their heads, their silent agreement to disregard my instructions sparkling in their guilty smiles. Without hesitation, they turn back to the puzzle of the World the moment I take the first steps up the stairs. I know they won't be up at 8:30. I'll be lucky to get 9:15 out of them.

***

Last night, everyone was in bed at 8:00 PM though, and I wasn't far behind. After a long, meeting and after work event heavy week, I crashed. And crashed hard. It wasn't just this particular week though. And it wasn't just work: big presentations, a new team (with new food), and a frenzied pace. It was the past two or three and the more personal, emotional side of them.

While I would characterize the first half of April as magical. The latter half was a little more disenchanting. Over the course of two and a half weeks, the world closest to me lost a father, a mother and a baby. And it was heartbreaking.

My friend Bridget lost her loving, humble father to brain cancer.

Pittsburgh mourned the tragic death of a sparkling, dedicated mother, killed by a car while jogging with her baby.

And a mile away, my community lost a bubbly toddler whose giggles are eerily absent from her house this morning.

Mid-April, I cried with Bridget and some of my closest college friends in Manhattan, as I prayed for an involved commercial real estate titan, Notre Dame lacrosse fan, humble servant, and doting husband, father, and grandfather. A week later, I mourned the death of Mariah, a lawyer, marathoner, dedicated friend, and proud mother of two beautiful boys with my best friends from high school and prayed from miles away. And I sat in my boss' office about to burst into tears as she told me about the passing of a one year old just blocks from the both of us, once again lifting a silent prayer.

My heart broke more times than I can count. Not as much for the three people who are certainly looking down on their loved ones from heaven this evening, but for those left behind. Those who will have wounds that could take a lifetime to heal.

***

The other night I asked Peter why he had such a hard time abiding by the five minute rule. Just bring her upstairs, I told him. I'll do the rest.

He said, 'I don't know. I like playing with her.'

I felt so guilty. All I wanted was for her to go to bed, so I could go to bed. Peter just wanted time to play. (Yes, he's an amazing dad.)

As a mom, trying to balance tender love with discipline, I often feel conflicted. Between hugging and kissing my kids too much and teaching them right from wrong. Between laughing at them and tell them, NO! Between catering to their every whim and finding time for my own. Between going to work every day and calling it quits.

But if there is anything I learned from the loss of life recently, and the people still living, it is that there is always time for another hug, kiss and consoling word. It's okay if five minutes turns into fifty. Because it might be the last fifty. Life is so beautiful, yet so fragile. And while we are here, we might as well cherish every second of it with the people that we can't live without.

Lo.