A Gone Too Soon Moment

Grace was (very probably) the first person outside of my sports/elementary school bubble I met when I started junior high. Moving into junior high is the first real shove out of the comfort zone you're raised in. This makes the transition from elementary to junior high so much more difficult than the move from junior high to high school. 

We didn't "hit it off," probably because I did something stupid. Or because I was adjusting to life full-time with glasses (with really, really big frames that were probably too big for my face). Or because she wasn't there to suffer fools. But we did establish a relationship that was friendly and helpful, like you do when you're serious enough about your education that you realize that you don't have to do it all on your own all of the time.

We'd have classes together through the next six years - and seeing her in a class meant that you knew that there was one person in the class that would not cause unnecessary drama. In fact, to my knowledge, there was never any drama attached to her. She came to school, had her friends, got her education and lived her life. I'd bump into her (and her eventual husband) working at the local Target (back when, ya know, you could be a college student who could work at Target and go to school at the same time), and we were always friendly, have a quick talk (if we could) and move on.

And then, as we do, we moved on. Each of us has our own lives and paths to take. We drift apart from people who were friendly high school acquaintances, and cultivate new friends to add to the ones you may have kept touch with from your original bubble. Until social media, that is.

Like many, we reconnected on Facebook. Our relationship on Facebook was pretty much the same as it was in school - friendly acquaintances who shared the same basic upbringing in the shadow of Disneyland. A pair of Gen X kids who watched the world change around them and have their lives reflected back in the Offspring song "The Kids Aren't Alright." (Which shouldn't be a surprise considering the fact that Dexter went to high school in roughly the same period six miles down the road.) We got peeks at each other's lives, and commented on the milestones we each reached.

At our last high school reunion (30 years, almost 2 1/2 years ago now), my wife and I had a long conversation with her. Grace, like so many from my class, welcomed my wife as one of our own. And she was able to share some of her war stories of working in education with Gina, who had more than her share of war stories from working the playground - and getting ready to start her journey toward becoming a substitute and working toward her full credential.

And then we went on our way again. Back to Facebook friends. Hadn't seen her since that reunion. 

But that didn't mean that the news of her passing last night didn't hit me like a ton of bricks.

As I've pondered it the last 12-plus hours, I've gone many different directions with my emotions. We weren't close - she had plenty more friends from school with whom she was closer, especially the people from her elementary school bubble. But I guess it was her status in my life as the first person I met and developed a relationship with in junior high that made the news extra harsh to read.

But more than all that, I guess, is the fact that I don't feel like this should be possible. I don't feel like I should be at the age that I should be mourning the loss of a fellow high school classmate. She's not the first from my class, either. But she is the first of us to have passed after reaching the half century mark.

And maybe that's it. Almost all the folks from my high school class has reached the age of 50, and that doesn't seem like it should be possible. We can't be 50. Fifty is old. And I'm not old.

But, then again... I down ibuprofen and acetaminophen on a regular basis to deal with daily aches and pains. I had a hip X-ray recently that the doctor said he could see arthritis becoming an issue. And the same hip was causing sciatic nerve pain for the better part of three months. Many of my classmates - Grace included - have already seen their children graduate from high school. Some are grandparents. We're all at the point where our bodies have more miles on them than our mind is willing to accept - some of us more than others. You know how many of us probably walked off concussions back in the day and kept playing? I know I did at least once or twice, if not more. 

That's why I wasn't kicking or screaming when it came time for me to have THAT cancer screening. You know, THAT one. And it went smoothly, and the word is that everything looked good. Should be fine for another 7-to-10 years. Considering I lost a grandfather to cancer, and all the cigarette smoke I grew up inhaling around members of my extended family, I should be grateful that, for now, everything seems OK. 

But it wasn't for Grace. And that's what's so frustrating about it. She, by all accounts, was doing it right. I don't think she abused her body any more or less than the rest of us have over the years. But cancer chose her. The mom of two who spent her adult life as a teacher to countless other young people. It's not fair. 

Then again, life never is.

Fuck Cancer.