One of the beautiful things about living in a small town is the sense of belonging to a large family. However, along with the great rewards, to have a large family can mean there will be a lot of loss — as was the case in Cambria recently. So many special people passed away in such a short period of time it had residents shaking their bowed heads. Some wondered if there was a curse cast upon us, while others just took deep breaths and sighed out their woes into our mysterious world.
Even when the people who departed were people we had relationships with that were merely mutual smiles of recognition, Cambrians experienced these fine folks' partings as if they were punches to the gut. So struck, so beaten, so shocked by their sudden absences, the town became very quiet except for painful moans. For a while, it was only our sorrowful heartbeats and sobs heard above the constant sound of gentle ocean waves. Stunned, stopped in our tracks by unexpected deaths, one after another in rapid succession, we came to realize life as we once knew it will never be the same.
Not that we hadn't met with feelings of bereavement before. We had. In fact, we still recall those who preceded us in death long ago. We always will. It doesn't seem to matter whether our SLO coast "family" members crossed over lately or decades ago, we continue to remember our interactions with these colorful individuals. After all, they were a part of our lives, a patch of fabric woven into our brilliant quilt of comfort, a piece of the security blanket we call home. Far from forgotten, we still see their faces. We chuckle at the way they laughed. We think of them as they were and we miss their unique personalities. Time does not change this. We do not forget. Rather we reminisce about what was important to them, the things that brought them joy, the stories they told, the passions they had.
In the wake of these peoples' departures, we come to understand, in life there is loss. That person we wave at as they drive by, that local we nod at on the street, that familiar face we smile at as we push our carts past one another in the grocery store, or that neighbor we say good morning to at the post office, that special someone we know well — or casually — could be gone tomorrow. No guarantees there will be another chance to be kind. There is no promise of tomorrow.
The good news, there is today — the present — a time to make the most of people's lives with acknowledgement, acceptance, and appreciation.
From here, we can progress with even more care and compassion. Together, in encouragement of our fellow residents — be they blood relatives, friends, or neighbors — we can continue to build a strong and supportive foundation to stand on in challenging times. We are not alone. We are family with much in common. Blessed beyond measure, in a small town we have each other.
