While my life shrunk to a room or two over the long holiday weekend life outside our home of recovery carried on. While we set alarms for middle of the night medication and before medication snacks other lives began and, on our street, other lives ended.
Monday evening I decided it was time for me at least to step outside and take a walk. Once outside, it took me a second to realize that the street was packed with cars -- blocked with cars. There was no more room for parking and so vehicles were left where they were. My only assumption was that somewhere on the street was one really big party. I thought all that while I chose my music to walk with on my iPod and didn't even notice the woman, weeping, approach me until she stopped in front of me.
"I'm sorry the street is a mess," she said but because my mind was still on music choices I didn't hear her.
When I asked her to repeat her statement she said, "I'm sorry the street is a mess. My father just died and our house if full of family."
I took my walk weaving through mourners and still more cars all the while marveling that most neighborhoods hold far more than the eye can see.
As I was about to return home another woman, weeping, approached me and again apologized for the clutter of cars on the street. I extended condolences and added that it felt strange to be getting exercise in the middle of such sorrow.
The woman looked at me, smiled, and said through her tears, "Well, it's all part of life, isn't it."
And so it is.