Yesterday I popped into the salon and asked, “When can Garry fit me in for a hair cut?”  The gal paused, looked me in the eye and replied, “I’m so sorry. Garry … died several weeks ago. He had a heart attack.”

Perplexed. Then bewildered. Then, the WHAM of reality. 

After a few missed beats, I started backing out the door, holding back the tears, then paused and looked her in the eyes and said, “My thoughts are with you.” 

Then I walked. And walked.  And thought: This shock, this disbelief by a death is what people everyday experience, everywhere. Now you see him, now you don’t. Unexpectedly gone. Disappeared. Vanished.

That’s the catch: How unexpected are many deaths?

Garry’s obituary cited “heart disease” as his cause of death. Didn’t he know he had heart disease? Did he know if he was contributing to it?  Was he proactively managing his health in an effort to extend it for decades, rather than end it too soon at 62?  Was there something he could have done differently, years ago, to change the outcome?  (Here we go again to Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda Land…)  

We do own our own health, good or bad. No one else owns it. The choices are ours. If we are overweight, have high cholesterol or smoke, we usually know better, When we are younger, we plan to eventually get around to doing better. But often, we wait until there is already considerable damage, then we think it is too late to change.

It so much easier to do nothing. 

But, easier for whom?

What does it take to shift from knowing better, to taking action? If we consider, anticipate, the grief we’ll cause others by our early demise, will that spur action?

So many of us play Russian roulette with our own health.  

I have a 46-year-old brother in law with a daughter who just entered college: I pray that some day soon he wakes up and takes true ownership of his own health so his future grandchildren can have many years of memories of him being a healthy, active senior. (At age six, my niece lost her first father to cancer; He was 44. I pray my brother in law starts doing his best to prevent her from experiencing another heartbreaking loss of a father, too early.)

He is over weight. He has high cholesterol. He chooses to eat lots of red meat. His mother had an amputation because of her diabetes. Hello?  I fear. His daughter fears. His wife (who already experienced the devestating loss of one husband) fears for his long-term health. But he’s a man. So invincible …until, perhaps, he isn’t.

Several months ago, one of my very best friends, Linda (who lives 2400 miles away), off handedly admitted that she smokes 15 (!) cigs a day.  She was thinking about cutting it down to five a day.

What! Oh my gosh. I never knew.

My quiet, gut reaction to that was, “How selfish of you.”  You have two boys and a loving husband. Don’t you want to protect them from the grief of losing you decades too early? Don’t you want your future grandchildren to experience the delight of Grandma Linda, so active, so feisty?  Do you realize the premature sadness and worry your children already experience, when one of your boys finds a cigarette hidden behind the sheet music on the piano, and snaps it? (I found that snapped one during my last visit.)  

She sent me an IM the other day, in tears about her close friend in France who is living with cancer. I feel for them both, reached out to her. Yet, I quietly think, “So Linda, it seems she couldn’t prevent what she’s going through. But, what are you doing so that the ones who love you don’t someday have to experience a similar feeling of helplessness and pain with you?" 

I have two brothers, each with heart disease and diabetes. I pray they each take ownership of their own health, as best as they can, so we have them for many more years.

We worry. Families worry. Friends worry. We know if we say anything more, we will likely cause anger. So, many of us don’t speak of it any more, to keep the peace. But, the worry continues.

I’ve nudged and said as much as I can. Often, I bite my tongue and remain quiet, so as not to harp. Not to nag. Not to alienate.

I know I am being so very judgmental, and selfish in these worries, thinking how what they do with their lives will ultimately impact me. But it seemed that Garry’s death could be a teaching moment, to influence in some manner, the ones I love. (Do you hear me?)

Meanwhile, Garry’s death reminded me how each of us is so very connected to so many people. Each of us does impact so many others. I miss Garry now, and will remember him fondly for the rest of my life. I met him only three years ago, when I relocated to Seattle. At first I only wanted someone I could trust who really knew how to cut curly hair. I found so much more: sparkling eyes and delightful, contagious laughter. I can barely imagine what his friends and family are going through.

Last year I decided I didn’t want to put my family through that.  The doctor confirmed that I had crossed the official line between “overweight” and “obese” Also, my lousy LDL cholesterol was way too high.  At the time, I was caregiver to my mother, whose strokes were likely caused by her choice to visit McDonalds daily. My brothers had been recently diagnosed with diabetes and heart disease. All of this was a wake up call to me, and I finally took ownership of my own good health.

Today I am size 6, lift weights, run and daily try to eat Super Foods. Keeping the weight off and staying fit isn’t necessarily easy, but my goal is to continue to live a healthy lifestyle the rest of my life, doing my best to try to live as long and healthy as possible.

Only after I loss the weight did my sister say, “You know I was seriously worried about your health.”  I never knew.

What I do know is that I have become evangelical about health and fitness, for very selfish reasons: Because I care. I don’t want to hurt more than I have to when the end comes for those I love.  I do hope each soon takes ownership, a more conscientious role, in their own good health, for the sake of those who love them, if not for themselves.

It starts by making smarter choices, each day. They don’t have to be the smartest choices: Just smarter.

Sure, I know: Time to step down from my soap box, again.