Our island's ex-pat community lost someone yesterday. Her name was Maggie. She was a married woman, American, and she worked as a bartender at Mulligan's, aka the "golf shack". In a casual way, a lot of people "knew" her, and some considered her a close friend.
I didn't know Maggie personally. That's often how it is in small, outlying areas of the world where people are acquainted with other people they see in the grocery store or socially, without really knowing the person behind the form.
Maggie had had a freak accident involving a hard fall- a fatal blow to a vital organ. She bled internally as our tiny island hospital staff did what they could do. They attempted to stabilize her so she could be flown to Puerto Rico, but it was not to be.
As Maggie lay fighting for her life, my husband had a freak fall playing with our dog in the commons area at our condo. He lay on the ground, face up, thinking how- if his head had struck the nearby stone wall or a rock- he could have easily been in Maggie's position.
Two reminders of how fragile a life is. Here today, gone tomorrow. As for me, once my sabbatical ends, I'm going to paint like there's no tomorrow.