A month such as March, 2001, cannot pass without comment, and yet, as I sit here by the fire with pen in hand, I don't know where or how to begin.  How does one begin to write about matters of life and death?  Especially the life of older people and the death of younger people.  What are life and death anyway?
I just drove down Lilac Lane this evening to Bruce Hultgren's house to pick up a picture of Trice for her obituary.  Trice's obituary?  How can that be?  How can Trice be in my newspaper for dying?  How can she be in those other columns that come alphabetized in the Minneapolis Star Tribune? 
How could Bruce talk to me so coherently tonight?  I looked into his eyes and saw tears and I saw Trice and I saw how much he misses her.  How could little Ellen be sitting at their kitchen table diligently doing her eighth grade homework?  Why does their home look normal on the surface?  Where are the three boys?  And why are their dogs barking instead of whining?  Trice was buried just three days ago.
At church this week I held the hand of Ovid Northrop, continuing the human chain that stretches almost uninterrupted from the front pew to the last pew as we recite, in unison, The Lord's Prayer.  "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done."  Every time I look into Ovid's eyes I see tears and I see Genevieve and I see how much he misses her.  Yet he can smile and talk about the weather.
But why did Bob Beatty take his own life?  Because Lynne was not a cancer survivor?  Because life had little meaning without her? 
Sometimes at the Victoria Post Office, when I looked into Bob's eyes, I could see tears and I could see Lynne and I could see how much he missed her.  Why are some people stronger than others?  Why does living take more strength than dying? 
At the Victoria Care Center last week I hugged Ed Vanderlinde as the friend he has come to be.  Every time I look into Ed's eyes I see tears and I see Mary and I see how much he misses her.  Yet he can smile and talk about the old days.
Only a couple weeks ago I read in the Star Tribune that Scott McClain died.  Scott McClain dead?  Back in 1979 Scott started publishing The Victoria Gazette as an advertiser, more or less, for the buildings in Victoria that he renovated and for the businesses that he put in those buildings.
Scott's dreams were 20 years ahead of their time in Victoria.  Today we'd die for half of those amenities.  In any case, only the Gazette remains.  Even Scott himself is now gone.  I know he had to recover from many things in life, including the death of a cherished young daughter killed in an accident years ago.
I did not know well the little Notermann girl that died in March, 2001, but I knew of her.  For many years from the choir loft, I watched her tall mother and tall sisters and then her little brother walk down the center aisle at church every Sunday to sit in one of the very front pews.  Jessica was also tall.  They were never late, but almost late.  And they were also never early.  It is hard for us to know that the oldest of those little girls has died, huh?
So March has brought us a lot of death, the death of young people, people within our "sphere of influence," so it's a bigger deal for us than merely glancing at a few obituaries.  And whether or not we are searching for answers, we still have the questions.
Bruce Hultgren wrote quite an astounding tribute to his beautiful "angel," as he calls his wife.  Part of it spoke clearly to me.  Maybe it will to you also.  Wrote Bruce, "Trice continually helped me focus on making the main thing the main thing.  'You can't die on every hill,' she would remind me."
Isn't that true!  We do have to set priorities and then simply live by them.  I guess we just have to keep breathing and then die on the hill that God chooses for us.  Surely it can't be as tough as the hill He chose for His Only Son.
March also brings us the first day of spring and the beginning of new life.  If there are beginnings, must we expect there to be endings?  And is it all not connected?  Yes, it is all connected.  It is all connected to Easter.  Without Easter, nothing makes sense.  Without Easter, matters of life and death don't matter.
Wrote Bruce, "God has blessed me, not only with Trice, but, through her, with four wonderful children who love the Lord.  They love their mother, their friends, and life, with all its sorrow and joy.  We are still learning.  Trice has left a legacy of love in our hearts and lives.  In my weakness I continue to seek God's guidance and grace."
Everything on earth is passing, and it doesn't matter that we don't understand.  Did I say everything is passing?  Yes, I did.  So pass the ham, pass the spuds, and pass the salt and pepper.  Easter dinner is almost here.  I thank God for love and life and Lent.  Without them, we wouldn't miss anything.  --Sue