A dear friend of mine died four weeks ago. It was sudden. Unexpected. There has been no gathering of those of us who loved him, no collective mourning. Even in ordinary times the sudden death of one dear to us is surreal, we keep expecting the news to be wrong, our loved one to be back. I keep thinking of things I should tell him. I hope for collective mourning, sometime in the unknowable future.

I last spoke with my friend in early April. It was a beautiful day, so I walked in my garden while we spoke. It was so good to hear his voice, his laugh, to know he was alright.  We decided to speak every few weeks while this plague is upon all of us. And now he is gone.

We met, improbably, in the Minnesota All State Lutheran Choir in 1977. He was such a talented pianist, such a gifted person,such a beautiful friend. We were friends through all the trials of young adulthood. We stayed friends through all the twists and turns of adult life.

My friend loved Virginia Woolf, and the illustration below is from a book of her short stories that he gave me, after we had both survived many things and come back to embracing life. Free from our cages. Through all those years of friendship, he reminded me that every day is a gift. If we have found our way to be free from our cages, we might as well dance.

Every day is a gift.