Last Saturday night, I went out for dinner with the man I have been dating and his friend. I wrote about it the next day. It was a glorious, shining night. Laughter, great food, nice people. I like the man I am dating, and it is always nice to meet the people close - it gives insight into the person. I liked his friend, I felt the friend liked me.
Early in the week, the man called me. He was in Nashville on a business trip. When I asked how he was, I could tell immediately there was something wrong. Then he told me. They had a great time on Saturday night. On Sunday morning, they went to the gym. As they were stretching, the friend keeled over and died. On the spot. Dead.
The friend was on his way from California to New Jersey. So, my "fella" was grateful he didn't die on the road. Or in a lonely hotel room. Or in his car and injure or kill someone else. He was with his friend.
He is suffering. Mourning the loss of his friend. Also having to deal with all of the details. In possession of a car and a bunch of possessions he needs to get back to CA or NJ. And a body.
Oh, it is sad. Also a good reminder that we do not know the hour. I hope he had been to confession recently. I hope he was ready.
But I am glad we had strawberry shortcake for dessert. I can't imagine skipping dessert at your last meal.
Say a prayer for Mike, please?
Thanks. And I am going for a walk with my "fella" after Mass this morning.