Life Interrupted

When my wife and I were at Hubbard Lake two weekends ago visiting with my brother's family at my parents' cottage (Party on the Beach), my nephew witnessed a bike-riding accident on the paved road that descends to the beachfront. A middle-aged man and his wife were riding down the hill towards a curve when the woman lost control.

My nephew saw it coming, comparing it to watching a YouTube video where you know a fall is going to occur, but in this age of "Funniest Home Videos" where you’re supposed to laugh when someone takes a sudden spill, this one wasn’t funny. The woman went over the handlebars and landed face first on the road.

Wendy and I were returning from a deer-watching expedition when we passed the ambulance, warning lights running, coming out of our subdivision. Later that night, I was sleeping in the tent when I heard a helicopter flying low overhead, which we speculated could be a med-evac copter transporting the woman to a better equipped trauma center in downstate Michigan.

Still, I would never have expected the outcome that occurred. Bike accidents often result in trips to the emergency room, sometimes even broken bones. In this case, it was worse. The woman died. Right away, I tried to Google the news for more information. What happened? I’d ridden my own bike down that same hill dozens of times over the years, never overly concerned for my safety.

But I found nothing. We didn’t know the woman. She wasn’t from our subdivision but we heard she was in her 40s and from Clarkston, Michigan, northwest of Detroit.

Eventually, I located her death notice among the on-line obituaries of the major area newspaper. It was a tersely written notice of less than 150 words. She was 48, a registered nurse in labor and delivery, and the mother of four daughters. "She enjoyed traveling, sailing, boating and mostly being a mother" was how her life was simply described there.

I tried to find out a little more, a bit haunted by the death of a woman which occurred only a block from our cabin, a spot I’ve always associated with fun and relaxation ever since childhood.

Again, I couldn’t find out much. Checking the blogosphere, I did find a journal written by one girl, a friend of the daughters, who described going to the funeral. She wrote: "The funeral today was really rough . . . listening to the words Mr. K. wrote for his late wife at the funeral today was so moving. He really loved her. (about the daughters) I can't really imagine what losing your mom when you're 21 or less feels like. C. was supposed to go to college for the first time in a few weeks. Now she has to go without her mother to help her move, wish her luck. A. will be the only one to graduate high school without her mother being there. It's all too bad."

The funeral home offered an on-line condolence book and I browsed the 50 or so messages there from family, work colleagues, classmates . . . They offered expressions of grief, sadness and comfort to the family. Not much of a glimpse though into who the woman was. All I could glean from my internet research were bits and fragments of a life interrupted.

Reading through the messages, I did sympathize for the surviving daughters. It is a terrible loss to not have someone there to nurture them as they pursue relationships, marriage, child-bearing and motherhood themselves. Like life itself, having a mother there is something we take for granted. But sisterhood is an especially strong bond. They'll survive and eventually move on.

It certainly makes you re-think the journey of life. What's important. What really matters. How you would like to be remembered yourself. And that it can be over with just that quickly.