death in the afternoon

Life is fragile.

That is a fundamental truth. We all know it. But we live as if it just is not so.

Aging is one of those topics I muse about often these days. It may be that now that I am whittling off the days of my eighth decade, each day seems to be (or should be) just a little more precious.

Yesterday at breakfast I was talking with two retired ministers (one Lutheran; the other Presbyterian) about getting older. I told them I keep my small congregation of pills in individual containers labeled with the day of the week.

Every time I pick up my daily dosage, it reminds me that my days are literally numbered. I just do not know when the day will be that I will take no more pills.

As I was driving to dinner tonight, I paused on Nueva España -- the main street in the portion of Barra I call home -- for an elderly woman to make her slow, but dignified, way to the other side of the road. As I watched her, I thought she was once just like one of the little girls playing on the sidewalk blocking her progress. Had they looked up, they could have seen what life eventually had in store for them. Of course, they would not have believed it.

To reach my dinner spot, I had to drive from the "Y" intersection where the road to Barra joins Highway 200 and cross the largest fresh-water laguna on the Pacific coast of Mexico. You can see the laguna on the satellite image. Most of the water surface is covered by aquatic plants.

I know that stretch of road well. I walk it at least once a week on my way to church Sunday mornings. Because it is a causeway, it has rather narrow shoulders. That does not keep the shoulders from being a multi-purpose bit of asphalt. Walkers. Joggers. Runners. Bicycles. Horses. Motorcycles. Parked cars. They are all there.

It is a dangerous bit of road. I have witnessed two deaths on motorcycles there. Both times, dogs ran into the road causing the motorcycle to cartwheel. The result was fatal for both the dog and the biker. Both times.

Today, I may have witnessed the aftermath of a third death. When I pulled onto the highway, I could see a long line of cars stopped in both directions with several police cars with lights flashing about half-way down the causeway. It was not a good combination.

As we creeped by at a pace to give drivers in the cars more than adequate time to gawk, I could easily see what happened. There was a crumpled piece of metal that was barely recognizable as a bicycle.

My heart sunk. The bicycle had obviously been hit at high speed by a vehicle. Everything I learned in Physics class told me it could not have been good for the bicyclist.

For a moment, I grieved at the loss of someone's life. I then started thinking about who the deceased might be. Could it be someone I had seen riding along the highway while I walked? Or someone I knew in Melaque or Barra de Navidad or Jaluco? Or could it have been a close friend? A relative?

I still do not know who it was. I am certain though I will soon find out through my network. Death is seldom anonymous here. We are a small community.

What it is for me is another not-very-subtle reminder that we can be enjoying one of the best moments of life -- only to have our existence here snuffed out. In a moment. With no warning.

This is the point where moralists and the writers of horoscopes point out we should be living our lives as if we might die any moment. And I agree with the sentiment -- as hollow as it is.

The point is, we won't. We will be as oblivious to these daily reminders of how tenuous our grasp on life is, as those young girls on the sidewalk were when the wisdom of aging passed by. Or when I pop open today's day-numbered pill container.

Life is fragile. We just do not treat it as if that were true.

Tonight, my prayers are for a grieving family. Whether or not I know them, I too grieve.