To the Class of '91, To Make Much of Time

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may go marry:
For having lost but once your prime
You may for ever tarry.

-Robert Herrick, "To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time"

Last weekend was a lovely one in Savannah. The temperatures were spring-like, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and we were busy meeting a friend for a casual Italian dinner, walking the dog around the park and seeing Merle Haggard in concert. But my weekend was irrevocably dampened when I learned that a high school classmate -- only 38 years old and the mother to two young girls -- was killed in a single-car accident back in our hometown.

A month or so ago, another classmate formed a Facebook group page dedicated to celebrating our twentieth high school reunion this coming October. All of a sudden, the messages of where and when to have a party shifted to funeral plans and flower arrangements. It's unnerving, being faced with the death of a peer.

In all honesty, when the notice went out about our twentieth reunion, my feelings vacillated between indifference and apprehension. The awkwardness and rejection of seventh grade came roaring back. Will I be accomplished enough in my career? Will old schoolmates judge me because I'm on my second marriage? Let's not even discuss the extra pounds and gray hair that two decades can add to a person. But in this tragic event, I have seen old classmates -- some best friends and some mere acquaintances -- reach out across time and geography to offer words of condolence and support to each other. In short, we have rallied around each other.

Our class was a small one -- 76 people -- in a private school. Many of my classmates and I shared the entire primary education experience with each other, from kindergarten to 12th grade. And while I learned later to appreciate the small-classroom benefits of a liberal arts curriculum, I don't know that I ever have truly appreciated the shared experiences I had with those other 75 people. Until now.

Despite our small class size, we are an amazingly diverse lot. There are those who are married, divorced, with children and child-free. We have a doctor, lawyer, computer programmer, writer, veterinarian, restaurant owner and stay-at-home mom. Gay, straight; Christian, Jew and atheist; conservative, liberal and all shades in between. Hell, we even have a Canadian in our midst.

But here is the fast lesson I have learned within the past 72 hours. It doesn't really matter that we think differently from our former classmates or that we have all taken different life paths or someone wasn't cool enough to sit at our lunch table in the seventh grade. We shared something together that could only be experienced in that place and that time. By virtue of that, we will always be like family, in a strange sort of way.

Because in the end, life happens to all of us. We get laid off from jobs, divorced from our spouse, struggle with an addiction or cope with a problem child. But we also get promotions, get married, overcome adversities and welcome new life into this world. And in both bad and good, we should remember to reach out to our parents, husbands, wives, friends, children, and yes, even those childhood friends from a lifetime ago, and let them know how very much they are valued and loved.