In the past two weeks, I've had to say goodbye to two friends from college. One passed away suddenly of a heart attack. I hadn't seen her in many years until last summer when she joined in on a group camping trip. She hadn't changed a bit! She was still vivacious and funny and ready to just have a good time with everyone.
The other was killed by an avalanche while skiing in the backcountry in Jackson Hole. I hadn't seen him since 1993 when my roommate and I swung into JH on our way to Montana. We stayed at his little apartment for a day or two, carved pumpkins with him, and had some laughs - as usual. The pull of getting to Montana in time to find jobs took over and we slipped away. I never saw him again but I always wondered what became of him. He also was the life of the party - never unkind, he was always ready to hang out with anyone any time. He pledged a fraternity affiliated with a different sorority from mine but it was easy to forget that he was a KMA brother because he got along with everyone.
A little over two years ago we said a tearful goodbye to another friend who had a minor accident that went bad because of the years he'd spent abusing his body. It was too late before he realized how it had caught up with him.
All three of these friends were 42 years old. I am 42 years old. 42 years old is way too young to be buried or burying friends!
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