2020 seems to be the year of death and dying. Wives, aunts, fathers, friends, people we knew up close and people we knew at a distance. It’s probably little different than any other year given the human condition, it’s just that it all seems way more personal this year for me, as though the grim reaper is doing an inordinate amount of harvesting in my back yard. I suppose that’s what happens as you age. The people around do as well and some of them meet their maker.

At least a fair number of the departed are gone in the natural order of things rather than before what most of us describe as their time. Although, it should be noted that the day you depart is your time and the only guarantee we have is that, that time will come. Still, dying young is always a surprise and it causes us to think about what might have been and mourn that loss of potential accomplishment, although there’s no guarantee there, either.

But back to the present. Almost all of the dearly departed that touched me this year were accomplished, as wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, lovers, friends, singers, songwriters you name it. On their way to the grave they all did things, dodged bullets, made their way through a troubled world as best they could. The things they did touched people and the people they touched remembered them with fondness, in most cases, and many kind words. The living became speakers for the dead, and thus the dead were remembered, and the living carried on waiting their turn to be spoken of.