Lovely thing about summer in Colorado, hot dry days give way to cool and breezy evenings, the kind that plead for sleep with the curtains pulled all the way back and windows wide open. Early this morning, just around 12:20 a.m., what sounded like the whistle of a train pulled me immediately from light slumber. “Oh, I love the sound of the train," I thought. Wait. Train? Couldn’t have been a train whistle, I’m too far from any running tracks, closer to urban than rural. Then as one does when drifting and the thoughts run rampant like a movie reel on high speed, I imagined my Dad and wondered if Johnny Cash had written or sung any songs about taking a train to heaven because that sounds like the sort of thing he would have done and how quickly we slip from life to death and passing from this form to another and what that moment of freedom will feel like, if anything.
"A train whistle,” I laughed as I slipped back to sleep.
A friend of mine, a beautiful, vibrant, active and strong woman of 55, passed away last night. Cancer. She fought it hard the first time, fought it and feared it the second and stayed to say goodbye.