Life is short.

The title of this blog, albeit slightly depressing, is actually a song by Butterfly Boucher that I found myself humming at odd moments today. It took a minute to place it, and I wondered why it was on the brain. There has been a whirlwind of activity in my life lately, with Rob being in China and my visit to Seattle. I also got into the English program (with funding!) - a major goal that took some doing to accomplish. I remember looking at the requirements for a masters in English and thinking 'Jesus, I don't want to cut people open or fly planes or anything - I just want to talk about books...' Now, a year later, I have met some of the most amazing women - some really learned and humble women - and I feel that I have still have so much to learn. But, at least, finally, I can now start. This is a relief because I was thinking that I was never going to get to start my new life. And yes, I do realize how ridiculous it sounds to hear a thirty-five year old woman say this... I am one of those people that constantly is looking to the future - constantly waiting. Like Willy Loman, I am only happy if there is something to look forward to. Which is, as far a personality issues go, not a bad flaw. It is the mother of all my ambition and it chases away the laziness that keeps most people paralyzed. At its worst, however, it makes the present seem like something to be endured, something to grit your teeth and get through, rather than something to be savoured. I find it difficult to stop and feel things - to pause and breathe.

I have been trying to get better about this. My sister told me that every night she prays Maslow's hierchy of needs - "thank you God for giving me enough to eat," "thank you God for allowing me to live in a country free of persecution," "thank you God for my family" - she says that it reminds her about all that she has and makes her worries seem trivial in the face of such a list of fortune. I have tried it, and it works.

But this week, the thing that stopped me and forced me to pause and recollect all that I have to be grateful for was the death of a young friend of Ryley and Lincoln's. She lost her battle with bone cancer on Sunday after enduring endless chemo-therapy, surgeries, and finally the amputation of her leg.

Jessica was beautiful. She was radiant in the way that young girls at that age often are - pink cheeks, a high blond pony tail, corn-flower blue eyes, a charming smile. I remember the last time I saw her before she got sick. We were at the soccer centre and she had just been given a letter of acceptance to play for the Raiders. Club soccer -and she made it on the first day of try-outs. Jessica had one hell of a kick and was a fierce player.

It was the look on her face that sticks in my memory - she was positively beeming. It called to mind how I felt getting my acceptance letter from U of A. They congratulated me on 'my extraordinary academic achievement.' For the whole day, and admittedly several days after, I kept saying to my family 'who has extraordinary academic achievement? Me. I do!' (I even woke Rob up in the middle of the night to remind him in case he forgot) I am not sure what Jessica's letter said exactly, but I do know that she was proud of herself. I am glad that she got to feel like that.

The night Jessica died, I cried a lot. I cried selfishly for the loss of my brother and my father remembering how horrifying sickness and death truly is. I cried for her mother, imagining the wildness of her grief. I thought about a telethon that I briefly tuned into some time way-back-when for the Stollery Children's Fund, or some-such organization, during which a local news celebrity was interviewing a little boy dying of leukemia. He asked him if he thought that God heard his prayers. He replied: "God hears everyone's prayers...just sometimes he says no."

It is the moments he says no that knock the wind out of us. They force us to pause, to re-evaluate. Sometimes, they keep us locked in place for a long time. Grief can seem like it has no end. But then there are those moments where we get everything we hoped for and more - moments where we can be proud of ourselves and happy to be where we are.

This is how I will remember Jessica. Happy and enjoying a moment where God said yes.