Live a little

The other day I was out and about, shopping for sundries (as you do). It was a pleasant late spring day in the Puget Sound region -- that is to say, cold, grey and drizzly -- but I was Getting Stuff Done, so it was all good.

And then I came across this, and it pulled me up short.

It's just a bag of soft black licorice candies shaped like Scottie dogs. You can find them at lots of drugstores across the United States. No big thing.

But.

I first found a bag of these Scotties at the end of 2019, and thinking they were kind of cute, I bought them as a stocking stuffer for my mom for Christmas. I knew Mom loved all kinds of black licorice, but especially the soft kind, so I figured she'd probably like these.

When Mom saw the bag, though, her eyes lit up with delight. "Oh, these take me back to childhood!" she exclaimed. "My grandpa used to buy these Scottie dogs for me and my sisters when I was a little girl!" And she ate several with obvious relish. Very pleased with the reception they'd gotten, I made a mental note to buy some more Scottie dog licorice for Mom next Christmas.

Only there was no "next Christmas" for Mom. In early August 2020, she slipped and fell hard against the white wooden chest she used as a coffee table, breaking at least one rib and puncturing one of her lungs. She was rushed to the hospital and intubated, but she promptly went into cardiac arrest. By the time my siblings finally got hold of me to break the news, she was already dead.

It's been almost two years. On most days, I can get things done. I can run errands. I can do dishes and fold laundry. I can cook meals. I can scoop out the cat box. I can change the bedsheets. It's all normal, everyday household stuff that requires little or no thought to accomplish. I can function. It's fine. I can do this.

And every now and then I come across an object like this, something that tears at the edges of the ragged hole in the center of my heart that won't heal and won't go away.

The pandemic is still a danger, although more and more people are pretending it's over. I don't want to encourage anyone to throw caution to the wind, especially when people are still actively dying of this plague, and when many others are struggling with long-haul damage to their bodies after being infected. Nonetheless, I want to encourage you to embrace the slogan at the top of this bag.

You never know what life is going to throw at you next.

Live a little.

If Mom were still alive, I'm sure she'd agree.