And The World Turned

One of those Sunday nights, I guess... some thoughts:

Recently an acquaintance of mine died much too early and in much too sad a fashion for me to even begin to understand.  She was young- 22- just had a baby, in fact they had to take him early because her stomach cancer was a threat to the well-being of them both.  She could have been treated from day one, but she wanted to be sure her son would live, so she spent 5+ months allowing her child to grow in her womb whilst the cancer ravaged her stomach.  The baby was born- prematurely, but healthy.  The cancer spread.  Her son is 8 months old; strong, growing, healthy. She is in Heaven.  Such sadness.  Such sorrow.  I didn't really know her.  I met her several times- her husband was roommates with a couple of my good friends.  But hundreds of my Facebook friends knew her and mourned with her family as she departed this world.  My Facebook feed (the medium by which I experience much of the world and the true litmus for what is popular and relevant) was chocked full with statuses of grief and wistfulness.  Such sadness. Such sorrow.

 But in the middle of all these tears were a different kind.  Another friend.  23 years old - college classmates with the recently departed, in fact - posted a status of overwhelming joy as her new baby girl was born on the same morn as another mother's life ended.  Such happiness.  Such joy.  The world turns.

Walk into any hospital and you are smack dab in the middle of one of life's greatest dichotomies: the same elevator that transport people with "It's a Boy!" balloons and deer-in-headlights fathers also send up the heavy-laden spouses and children unsure of what they are going see when they enter their loved one's ICU room.  The tubes, the noises, the eery, unregulated hush- to some they bring glee, to others they bring gloom.  Its almost like there should be two entrances:  one for the joyful and one for the melancholy.  But, as it is, they all share same doors, elevators, and even the same rooms.  The walls that yesterday heard loss-full mourning today hear elated laughter.   The same halls that hold folks with hearts eight times their normal weight with lachrymose sadness, hold those filled with lighter-than-air merriment and mirth. The world turns.

Ecc 3:20 (echoing the curse of Gen 3, of course): "All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return."  The world turns.