I find myself reflecting quite a bit lately. I believe I've had an understanding for a long time of the fragility of life, but it seems to be screaming at me more than usual, especially with the loss of people with whom we are all acquainted.
Some of this consciousness results from the dark times we entered in 2020 with the coronavirus and its accompanying questions and quarantines, pain and pandemic; we have all been shaken. Part of it has to do with seeing people we know cope with the loss of family and friends without being able to reach out and touch them and make it all better. Many of us have had to deal with our own tragedies, some of it seemingly out of the blue -- just sprang up, and that was that. Then, again, there are the highly visible losses of well-known people who, though we may not have realized it before, had become staples not just in the world around us, but in our own worlds. They were linked to our childhood, our innocence, our way of thinking even.
Take Cicely Tyson, for example. At 96 years old, she left us last week. And what a legacy she left. The grace, the greatness, the gift -- she epitomized them all.
Hearing of her passing was like hearing about the loss of someone I knew, albeit from afar. She was a phenomenal actress, who managed to never appear to be acting. News of her death took me back to the first conversation I can recall having about her. Hempstead, Long Island. Seventh grade. Tamar, my best friend, mimicking Cicely as Jane drinking from the "White Only" water fountain in the movie "The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman." I had never seen that scene, but I sure did enjoy seeing Tamar reenact it.
A few minutes after hearing of Cicely's death, I went to YouTube, typed some keywords into the search bar and watched the clip of that drink of water for the first time. I never thought to watch it until then, and it brought tears to my eyes. How can a moment be both born and gone in a single moment?
The larger picture is not the recent losses of childhood and adulthood icons taken from us: the Cicely Tysons, Larry Kings, Cloris Leachmans and Hank Aarons. Sure, this is all part of the reason for my recent reflections, but those reflections lead me to myself. I've said to folks recently, "In case y'all haven't noticed, folks are leaving here with the quickness." This takes me, I shared, to a song we used to sing way back in the day in church. The lyrics said, "Get right with God, and do it now. Get right with God. He will show you how. Down at the cross, where He shed His blood, get right with God. Get right, get right with God."
That's the plea resonating in my spirit. We'd all like to think we have forever to do whatever here on earth, and some like to think they can pick and choose when they meet our Maker, as we say. It's just not true.
I'm all about staying here as long as possible and making a difference for as many as possible while here. However, we all also know tomorrow's not promised. So when it's all said and done, what matters is only what, well, matters -- and that's where we stand with God. There won't be time then to get affairs in order, forgive those we should have already forgiven, manage resources God trusted us to steward or build the legacy we had hoped to leave. These are my thoughts lately.
I accepted Jesus as my Savior long ago, and His grace and love brought me into His family. What He has given me, I want others to receive. This ride is moving at high speed, and I don't know where I get off. I want to fulfill my purpose, to inspire others to fulfill theirs and to walk alongside the Lord every second of the journey. Whether I have 96 years like Cicely or two years like the son whose parents laid him to rest, whether you live another five years or another 100, life is fragile, and we've been given an opportunity to be right with God and do right by people.
In the words of that old song, let's get right with God -- and, yes, do it now.
Adrienne Ross is owner of Adrienne Ross Communications and a former Southeast Missourian editorial board member.