The Third Death

There's some stupid saying about people always dying in threes. If that's true - if the reaper's reclamation bin has a capacity of trois (yes, in my world the Grim Reaper is French) - then I've just had my fill.

They were all quite different people, but they all had a common theme - they were way to young.

Regular readers remember our church's pastor died about 13 months ago. I did an obit here. He was the political antithesis of myself, but I think we may have been temperamentally the similar. He was helping our church after some tough times. One Sunday, he was eating lunch in front of the tv and died. He was 57.

Then at Thanksgiving, my wife's mother died. While not terribly young. She didn't have to die. to use a term she may have understood, there seemed to be a slow accretion of joy. Of wanting to go on with life. She was 67. Looked older. Could have lived longer. Two weeks before her death, I wrote this column.

Now Cathy Seipp is dead at 49. NRO has a great symposium here. Very cool lady. Someone whose blog I posted to and traded e-mails with once. There was no closeness of course from her end, but I read her blog every day. She wrote about her life and there's a natural tendency to "feel" like you know those people.

For those whose faith is built upon sand, there's little comfort in death. Young death seems an especially tragic waste.

Stay You.
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