Entirely too much mortality.

At my age, I have lost a few friends, but not very many. It seems, in the last week or so, that the average is trying to catch up with me.

Last night, a friend and former covener of mine, Julian, lost her battle with cancer. She was very young -- three years younger than I was -- and left behind a teenage son. It was not an easy death, or a short one; she was in a great deal of pain at times, and while we were no longer close, I know from mutual friends it was a hard time for her. She was a quiet, complex, and gifted individual who I wish I had known better.

On November 5, another friend and former online gaming compatriot, Kennet, lost his life-long battle with several severe illnesses. Kennet, while having some physical limitations, had a keen mind and a huge heart, and left behind a clan of people who loved and mourned him and a smaller family of two plus commensals who have a huge absence in their lives now.

As I said to my eldest daughter, "I have had enough of dying people and people dying."

It's not that this makes me fear my own death. I still think that the upcoming surgery will come off without a hitch and I'll be back to harass the universe in my own inimitable fashion after a short recovery. It's that once again, I have been reminded of the space that we create in other people's lives; the fingerprints that we -- that I -- leave and have left in others lives. And I've also come to realize I've left less of those over the last few years than perhaps I could have; I've pulled within myself, done less teaching and leading than I could have.

I'm going to Austin PPD tomorrow. Maybe that will change. But on a night when there are one hundred and more dead in Paris because of madmen who don't understand that all of this is connected, I want to remember that to acknowledge that connection, even as I fear headaches and vertigo and surgery, is the essence of life and living.