The week started off on a sad note. A friend I’ve known and held dear for the past 14 years passed away from health issues she had been dealing with indefinitely. She was an unfailingly kind person who led a larger than normal life, but unfortunately, those of us that knew her at a distance had no idea how severe her health issues were. She was always quick to think of others, but rarely if ever asked for help, herself. I’m not sure anything would have changed had we known, but I do know this: she leaves us grieving, certainly, but I know with confidence that all of our lives are far better having known her.

None of us know what challenges we may face down the road, especially at a time when so many have died far earlier than they should have. Those of us who are still here can either shake our fists in anger and grief — or we can work for change.

Seeing my health markers last week was a wake up call for me. While they’re far from horrible — most people would likely be fine with them — they were better just one short year ago. A lot has changed over the course of a year; wild highs and lows, fears, anxiety, grief. I’ve used those things as reasons to backslide rather than to strengthen myself, and if I needed evidence, it was right there in black and white. Medical tests don’t lie; they’re tools allowing us a glance at what’s going on inside of us.

Sure, at the beginning of the pandemic, many of use were making jokes about the Quarantine 15 (gaining 15 pounds, which I have lost and gained several times in the last six months), eating everything in the house, and more. I think nearly everyone decided it was a great time to do a lot of baking, especially bread. Many of us channeled our fears over what we hoped would be a short term event into ways to console ourselves; food, alcohol, and more.

I did it, too, although my gains were more recent and I used food as a way to vent emotions. I knew what I was doing, but it took seeing the evidence to drive it home that if I continued to allow food to comfort me, I was in danger of losing control over something I’ve been very proud of doing: regaining my health.

When I first dared to take my early steps toward health, I did it because I was afraid I would not survive to experience not only life events like the birth of my grandson, but the joys of regaining abilities — physically, mentally, emotionally. I didn’t want to cut my life short. While I am far from the place I started, my friend’s death is a stark reminder that life is short and we should absolutely make the best of each moment. I know she did the best she could with the issues she faced, and I should be doing that, too. It’s been far too easy to fall into complacency. I must move forward with renewed vigor.

My life is not on hold because there’s a pandemic. I have to stop living as if it is and allowing it to erode my mental outlook. It’s time to quit letting things get in my way and finally push through to where I want to be. That’s the job I should be doing.