I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.
Willa Cather

An online acquaintance died yesterday. I didn't know her very well, although we'd exchanged emails on occasion. But we'd been on the same list for years, which made it feel like I knew her better than I did. She posted a lot, too, which left me feeling even more as if I knew her well. So hearing that she'd died was a real shock.

She's been sick since late last year, first complaining of congestion, then a virus. Then it turned out to be pneumonia. They put her in the hospital and I thought, "Oh, oh, I've seen this happen before." See, I had a friend a year ago of pneumonia. Even with hospital care they just couldn't hang on to her. The way things were going with Bea, I just didn't have a good feeling about things.

Which means, I guess, that I shouldn't have been so shocked to see the announcement. Yet I was. I saw the note from our listowner and thought it was going to be about getting a group gift of flowers or something. We've done that many times. Then I opened it, and felt like I'd been punched in the gut.

I don't know why this has effected me so much. I hardly knew her, but I've been in such a somber mood ever since I heard. I just feel ... weird.

There's been an enormous outpouring of affection on the list. She touched a lot of lives. Huge numbers of list members have written in about how a letter from her touched them, helped them, or made them feel better on a bad day, about how generous she was of her time and energy in helping other people, how loving she was and how thoughtful. I wonder if people will say those kind of things about me when it's my time?

From everything I know about her, it sounds like Bea Sheftel lived a full life. She said in her last letter to the list that she wasn't ready to go yet. It's sad that she died, but, in the end, what an epitaph to leave for yourself - that you lived your life in such a way that you wanted to stay, not to flee it.

I hope when my time comes that I want to stay.