May Angels Lead You In

Yesterday morning, one of GW's own left us too early. I didn't know Laura Treanor.

The old sentiment "cherish every day like it's your last" at times seems hackneyed when you're so certain that the dawn of your final day is still a million sunrises away. I don't think Laura Treanor suspected that yesterday's dawn would be her last. But if her passing shows anything to all of us, it is that the pedestal of arrogance upon which we stand in order to revel in our self-fashioned temporary immortality may in one strong wind heave and crumble to the ground while we're still thumbing our noses to the sky.

It is difficult to find meaning and significance in our days under the crushing weight of the inconsequential minutia of our daily lives. But a loss that hits so closely reminds us of the challenge we face. Each of us must find our own way of stealing ourselves away from the ever narrowing present and discover a broader vista; we must ever so often focus our eyes off of the ground and onto horizons ahead. We must learn to appreciate the frailty of heartbeats and the miracle of breathing. We must remember that everyone is someone's son or daughter, including ourselves. And most of all, we all must do our very best to keep at bay the virulent notion of invincability that clouds our heads and obscures our vision.

They say one must grow old to appreciate being young. Perhaps the wisdom of age humbles us so we may step down gracefully from our pedestals before we're brought down.

I didn't know Laura Treanor.
She was from New York, she was 19 years old, and she was someone's daughter.