The Urgency of Living
by Leslie Karen Lobell, M.A.

In loving memory of Ivy Gloria Dean
 
Sept 22, 1955 — Jan 16, 2001
 
"You Are A True Art of Loving Woman"

 
I was just starting to get to know Ivy. We had several mutual friends, and we had been out with them, en masse, a couple times for dinner. Ivy and I seemed to take an instant liking to one another. We whispered and laughed, becoming engrossed in our own conversation. We spoke as if we had known each other for ages. We spoke about love, about the men we secretly admired… We spoke about pain: the heartbreak of losing a loved one. We spoke about life: its joys and sorrows.
 
One Friday evening, I ran into her at the Banana Boat. She and I sang together as Jeff played guitar. We laughed, and sang, and danced. When she heard me sing, she said to me with a big smile, "I didn't know you had it in you!" In return, I marveled at her: she seemed so full of life. I gave her a ride home that night. As we said our goodbyes, we talked about getting together again, soon.
 
I got busy with the Holidays. I went off island. I was fighting a cold when I returned. Time slipped away. I thought about Ivy now and then, and inquired about her. I had no idea that I would never see her again. Then one evening I received an email: she was gone. She had died, suddenly, apparently from a heart attack. That was it. Her death came as a shock to me and to her many friends on island.
 
Death is a natural and inevitable part of life. Yet so many of us have trouble accepting and coping with it. In Western culture, many people try to deny it or fight it off. We treat it as something "unnatural" or "unfair." Especially when someone dies at a fairly young age, or, as we say, "before his or her time," we feel it is "wrong." We have a hard time trying to search for meaning in death, especially in an early or "untimely" death.
 
I believe that everything in life serves a purpose. I look for the meaning and the lessons in the events in my life. So I had to ask myself, why would Ivy come into my life just to depart it? How can I make sense of a death that seems so untimely? … The answer began to emerge from the other questions I started to ask myself… How had I let the time slip away? Why hadn't I seen her again? How did I miss that chance? The word that came to mind was "urgency." I had not been urgent about life. I was taking for granted that I had time, and that I would see her again. I assumed we would both be around. I was wrong.
 
So how can an early or untimely death serve? It serves as a wake up call for the living. We cannot take our time on Earth for granted. Time is precious. LIFE is precious. If we put important things off until tomorrow, we may discover that tomorrow is too late.
 
How might we behave if we were living life with urgency? What if we lived each day with the knowledge that, when we go to bed at night, we might not wake up tomorrow? How might things be different? We might realize that life is too short to hold grudges, and thus choose to put anger behind us more quickly. [I know one couple that has been together, happily, for about a dozen years. One of the ground rules in their relationship is: "Never go to bed angry." This works well for them]. We might say the words "I love you" more often, rather than assuming our loved ones "just know it." We might work harder to get closure on issues from our past that is still troubling us. We might stop putting off the pursuit of our hopes and dreams. We might travel somewhere new and exotic, or write that novel we've been talking about. We might choose to live life passionately, rather than comfortably. We might not put off, till next week or next month, seeing our friend. We might not find ourselves wondering how time had slipped by or how an opportunity was lost.
 
In honor of Ivy… and in honor of all those who have departed this plane before we were ready to say goodbye… I ask you to remember that life is too precious to squander. Live it with passion. Live it with urgency.
 

Copyright ©2001 by Leslie Lobell

 
Editor's Note:
Ivy was my friend for the past seven years. I knew her well, and I shared many conversations with her over the years. We talked about our community, Providenciales, Turks & Caicos Islands, where we both lived. We discussed our lives, work, family, and more importantly we talked about love & relationships. Ivy was always very interested in what I was working on at the time with The Art of Loving, and always provided me with a great deal of encouragement. Many nights when her bar was quiet our conversation would always drift to love and life, and we would share with one another our experiences of happiness and of hurt in our lives. She was always interested in how all her friends were doing, including me. I would walk into one of the many restaurants and bars she worked at during our time together, and the first thing she would say was, "Are you ok baby? Are you ok Paul? How you doing?" I could never lie to Ivy, as she could read most of us like a book. Ms. Ivy always got the straight goods from me about how I was feeling. As for her I would ask her how she was feeling, and she would always say, "I'm ok". It was only after a long conversation with her, could I tell if that was the case. My Ivy was a big giver of love, and did not like expressing any negative feelings and hurt she was carrying. Her concern was always for her friends, before herself.
 
I was one of the first to hear of her death. At first it truly saddened me, and then after a moment of reflection I was overjoyed that she was somewhere at peace, dancing and singing with her daughter who she had lost in a car accident several years prior. I will miss her, but her love and her spirit will never leave me, and for that I thank her from the bottom of my heart.
 
In my memories today of Ivy, a quote by William Purkey comes to my mind:
 
"Dance like no one is watching,
Love like you will never be hurt,
Sing like no one is listening,
Live like it's heaven on earth."
 
I always remember saying to my friend Ivy, "who loves you baby", and she would just smile. She had a smile that could light up a room, which she did each day, while putting up with our demands for food and drink.
 
Ivy you have a lot of friends like me, Paul Mauchline, who loves you BIGTIME!!!!! Thank you for being my friend.
 
Copyright ©2000 by Leslie Lobell
 

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