Every day we meet and interact with more people than we realize. It has become the American way to bustle about our business while avoiding contact with other people as much as possible. The smaller the world seems to be, the more we insulate ourselves, seeing too many people as "strangers", taking for granted all the people who populate and touch our lives.

The people who play in our Magic tournaments are overwhelmingly male. One consistent exception was Stephanie Horn, who played often with her Husband, Matthew. She enjoyed the game as much as anyone here. I would occasionally see her in the middle of a game, her face almost a scowl as she concentrated on the cards. She was generally quiet, but universally liked. A few weeks ago she suggested a "Type II" format for our next tournament. As we don't seem to get a lot of suggestions, we fairly quickly decided to go with that format for the tournament. Only a couple of days before the tournament, Matthew informed us that she would not be here to play because she had just been put in the hospital. We all wished her a quick recovery and then moved on with the day to day activities that fill our lives.

Around the same time, we got word that another player's father had passed away. While I had only briefly met Austin's father, I knew that the loss would be great. You could tell by the way that Austin carried himself, by the way that he shook your hand, that he came from a strong and caring family. One of the most difficult things for me is expressing sympathy. If you have any idea how great the loss can be, there is just no words that seem adequate. We circulated a card for Austin at that tournament for everyone to sign. I have always felt a strong kinship with the players at our tournaments and I'd like to view them as something of a family.

At the time, I remember thinking that I should have also circulated a card for Stephanie. However, from what I understood, her stay in the hospital should have been a short one. She would probably already be out before a card could have gotten to her, I thought. However, two weeks later when the next tournament arrived, she was still there. This time we got a card together for everyone to sign, but even then, we all assumed that she would be back with us very soon. She was young and like we always do, we just assumed that she'd be there. We put the card in the mail, hoping that if she was released from the hospital, that they would forward it to her home. "Knowing hospitals," I thought, "It'll take a year if that's the case."

About a week later I got a call that Stephanie had passed away. No matter how long she had been in the hospital, no matter how concerned we might have been, it was still a devastating shock. It just seems impossible that people who we expect to be there might one day not be. I have some experience with how fragile and transitory our time here can be, and yet even I forget the lessons that I should have learned. All the cliché's about not taking the people that you care about for granted, about treating each day as if it could be your last, all of them are true. Perhaps we refuse to acknowledge these truths because to do so is to face a reality that frightens us too much. However, like it or not, eventually we all have to face it.

Matthew posted on our board of Stephanie's passing. I was moved as I read his message, even though it was brief. My fingers almost shook as I tried to post a reply. What could I possibly say that was appropriate? What right did I have to intrude on his grief? In the end, I had to say something, no matter how trite or inadequate.

It all forces a perspective on the trivialities that we face each day. Somehow the unimportant stuff dominates our attention and we ignore the things that should matter the most. There are riches that God has given us that we take for granted and we only seem to fully appreciate them in retrospect. Perhaps like children with short memories, we are destined to continually rush around and ignore the people we care about. Of course that doesn't have to be the case. Take a moment to look at the people that fill your life with different eyes. Look at them as if they might not be there. You may find that they suddenly look very different. As I said earlier, I really feel inadequate trying to express my feelings when it come to someone's loss. What Austin and Matthew are now feeling is something that makes me feel helpless and intrusive. All we can do is realize that we are a part of each others lives and live them accordingly. In the end the best that we can do is be there for each other, and that is actually quite a lot.