This Pondering Heart

I sometimes wonder how long it would take for people to realize I was dead. Pretty dark, right? But it’s true. I honestly don’t have that one person who would notice or be alarmed if I didn’t pick up my phone, answer a text right away or even come home late. It would probably take 13-15 hours for someone in my immediate community to realize something was amiss (Anne would eventually send out an amber alert). And by that time it’d probably be too late. Which then catapultes my thinking into who would come to my funeral, what they’d say to my parents or if they’d remember our last conversation. I wonder if they would’ve taken the chance to ask me out for coffee or looked me dead in the eye and told me I was important to them if they knew our time was limited. And then I consider what I would do if roles were reversed. We’re so quick to put things off. The little stuff: calling your sister later, rescheduling your lunch date to next Wednesday, cleaning the cookie sheet in

Sometimes you need someone to look you dead in the eye and tell you you’re okay. That despite the wild choices you made or the leaps of faith you took, the tailwind of overwhelm and confusion you feel is valid but you’re okay . --------------- My childhood bestie got married last week in always-sunny Mexico on a perfectly windy evening with the sand in our toes and salty tears streaming down literally every person’s face. It was exactly the wedding she had always dreamed of. Her dress was magically flowy (illuminating her sea goddess glow), the setting was intimate, and the subtly crashing waves framed the entire scene like a moment captured in slow motion. Thirty-one people watched with welled-up gazes (I’m telling ya there wasn’t a dry eye on the beach) as her dad confidently, gently and lovingly handed over the beautiful bride to one of the kindest, honest, most stand-up guys I know. We all danced the night away (right on the beach, I might add), got a little crazy (as o