That was the question that started the week at work. It was meant to be a discussion starter; a way to introduce a story (a dumb story about a girl on Venus who get locked in a closet for the one hour of sunshine that comes along every seven years). The question became too real last night when the phone rang. One of those late night rings that are never ever good.
A friend's wife died. Completely unexpectedly. A friend who is my age. Who's wife was younger. And had given birth to their first child three months ago.
They're not close friends. I don't know him well. I barely knew her at all. But somehow this has rattled me deep down inside. I can't quite wrap my brain around it. Because they're my age? Because there is a little baby who will never know her mother? Because it was so unexpected? Or just because?
And I keep thinking about all of the things that don't really matter. The speed, or lack thereof, of my digestive system. The size of my thighs. How fast I may or may not run. Whether or not I'll be a mom. How overworked I feel. When I'll get the house cleaned. What I'll make for dinner. The list goes on.
But today, I get to take my tired self home and find something in the refrigerator that will pass for dinner. And I get to cook it and set it on the table. And I get to sit next to my husband and eat it. And even if we're too tired from a day filled with unimportance to talk, at least he's right there next to me.
And next to that, nothing else is really that important at all.