One-Two, right under the belt.  Yesterday was Linda Jo, a friendly face I ran often on the streets of Avalon.  A familiar presence at Rotary events, one of my ‘fans’ who enjoyed my wacky presentations about animals, plants or whatever fancy topic I choose to throw at Rotary Avalon, my biggest fan club.  Linda Jo C. is no longer with us, passing away at the tender age of 50 while awaiting a potentially life-saving transplant.  I’m still trying to wrap my brain around that one.  Then today, a few weeks late to find out, as usual for me, John T., biologist extraordinaire, world expert in caimans, age 52, of cerebral malaria.  What the heck?  One of them, an important member of a small island community, involved, dedicated, friendly and active; the other a world-renowned but self-effacing authority, who died doing what he loved to do best, teaching and working outdoors with his beloved reptiles.

To die in your early fifties is, in my book, cutting it way too close.  At this age, we’re still very much productive, active, emotional and even sexy.  We play hard and work hard, privately troubled about our weight, our receding graying hairline, or a few aches and pains, but outwardly still very much in front, taking risks, talking a bit too much, having strong opinions, battling the noble causes and a few ignoble ones, just for fun.  We still can fall in love, we get embarrassed a little too easy, our face turning a deeper shade of red; tears come to our eyes more frequently than we want to acknowledge.  We start to take naps, but only when we’re not feeling 100% (which is almost never anymore).  But specially, we make plans.  Big, complicated plans.  Some of us think of retirement, of getting that sailboat, going fishing, downsize, and getting rid of things.   We have seen our children move on and strike on their own, and we’re happy for them, and for us too.  Others, like me, have started to plan the next stage in our careers, the one where we are in control and in charge, doing what we love, making little at the beginning perhaps, but keeping the eye in that prize ahead, the best seller, the script that sells, the book that identifies you, the paper that gets discussed broadly, the photo that makes the calendar or the poster.  For many, fifty is a bit late to start having these plans, these dreams.  But perhaps the way to look at it is that these dreams are not new or juvenile, they are the next step in our own evolution.  For me, fifty was the year to start the next half century of my life, my second career (or third), to write down what I have learned and plan to learn still, the consolidation of knowledge acquired and in search for.  I don’t see fifty as a time to die, to end, to read or write obituaries.  Frankly, I’m troubled by this.

I wonder what Linda and John had in their plans next; what was in their “To Do” list; what were they working to accomplish, what projects have they left unfinished.  I made a list of my projects, the ones that I feel I MUST complete next, soon even.  Yes, I can hear you.  I have a full-time job (more than a full time one, but we’ll save that conversation for later), and these other things, these projects, are just dreams, right?  Things to hope for and to wish for, to do if I have time; to do when I retire; to do… whenever.  Well, I’m 54 right now, older than John and Linda.  Did they have a To Do list as long as mine?  Did they leave a little mess behind like mine, the untidy desk or office with piles of papers, or the hard drives filled with open-ended documents, unedited photographs and partial manuscripts?  Is someone going to find the half-written letters, the incomplete stories, the unfinished projects, the notebooks started and never filled, the draft manuscripts, the ongoing travel plans, the phone calls that were never made?

There is a clock that ticks unheard and unheralded.  There is no destiny or preordained time, a set number of heartbeats in our lives, a predetermined time-has-come moment that if only we knew about we would solve the problems and clean up before we leave.  Life is not that tidy.  Haven’t we gotten the message already?  I’m mourning these two colleagues, these barely-known individuals, these members of the small and the large community, and I’m thanking them for their time here, their contributions to our lives, and the way they enriched us all, their close circle of friends as well as the greater circle of humanity.  And I’ll heed their quiet message.  Don’t wait.  Don’t postpone completing your own picture of what you are or would like to be.  Today is the day, right now is the time.

Carlos