For All The Saints, Who From Their Labours Rest...
--image from kandle.ie A few days ago, a friend left this message on my voice mail: "I hate to leave a message like this on your voice mail, but Linda ( not her real name ) died. A time and date for her funeral have not been scheduled; just wanted to let you know. Take care; will talk to you soon." Having not quite hit the half-century birthday mark (almost there, though!), I am becoming accustomed to getting messages like these. Someone I knew as a child, teen, or young adult has died. The age of the deceased no longer matters to me. In Linda's case, she was only a few years older than I. Sometimes, the deceased was a few years younger, or decades older. What matters is my circle of "long-known-and-long-loved" is getting smaller. It's a sign of aging, but it's hard to accept. Their deaths are reminders I most likely have more time behind me than ahead of me. That knowledge should shift and rearrange my priorities, and it has happened. A few summers ag...