I really thought I’d have kids. It just never happened.

Last week, I was in a car with my best friend when we passed a bank where I still have a few ghosts accounts remaining inside. I still pay into them—because they contain debts from the past that must be tended to. I asked her if we could stop while I ducked inside to make some inquiries; in actuality I had decided at the moment that I was over it. I didn’t want to think about them anymore.  Life is filled with so many eventualities and devoirs—some that we can control, others we cannot.

I never thought I’d find myself paying off a balance to something that I didn’t even own anymore. Much like the having kids thing, you have expectations and then you have reality. That’s just the way life works.

I went into the bank. I gave the teller a stack of money. When I walked out, I promptly cried in unexpected release. I was incredibly grateful to have my best friend at my side. I didn’t need to explain anything to her. She just understood. She’s the type of human connection that every person deserves to have.

And this morning, I woke up some 3,600 miles away. Back in London and back at my usual routine. My phone had over 100 texts on it. There were medical charts, dark humor, and on-scene photographs. She’s on life support. Last rites. People flying in. To say goodbye. The end of something was there contained within my phone’s small screen. An unblinking eye that always reports nothing but facts.

It’s just me out here, and I was left with myself to go to the office and sort through this sort of thing on my own. It’s of course another eventuality of life—this passing from birth to death—but like everything else, this still doesn’t mean that it’s easy to accept.

I’m heading to the Cape next week for Christmas, and as things are right now, there is no need for me to rush home prematurely. What’s done is done. Intellectually, I understood this, even as I stared at my work computer and tried to concentrate on mundane tasks. It’s easier to detour around the big occurrences signaling erosion because then one’s life feels steadier. And I’m not crying in the office.

And as I sat there, one of my Spanish colleagues came by. Like many of the international folks, he is straightforward in his commentary and blessedly to the point. He told me that I looked stressed, and then invited me to lunch with him and his wife. It was one of those invitations that seemingly float down at just the right time.

We perched ourselves by a fireplace and I spoke briefly about what was going on at home. He offered a story of his own loved one who had just passed on back in Spain, and the stories, while different, had striking similarities.  We spoke about life and moving on in general terms—the three of now sat and interspersed more lighthearted topics within the heaviness. I felt better for being given some air to breathe.

Just after lunch, I decided to leave the office for good, I grabbed two bottles of wine out of a case that I had purchased from the French (again, a happy byproduct of my international workplace). With my running backpack fully laden, I readied myself to open up my phone again. Time to head home and see how things were looking for this New England morning. As I was leaving the building, my Spanish colleague again intercepted me. “Where are you going?” he asked. I told him I was leaving. It’s cold outside, and I was walking the usual mile it takes to reach the tube station.  Before I knew it, he was on the phone speaking in Spanish. In a matter of minutes, his wife drove up with the car.  He went back into the building and retrieved the rest of my wine.

I didn’t get a lift to the tube station. Instead, I was driven straight to my front door. As we drove, she and I spoke about nothing of consequence, but we still enjoyed a conversation that was real. Since she’s a fairly new arrival to London, we spoke about the need to have Your People around—and not just the folks who happen to be of your age, gender or demographic. Life is tough and these are very the people who help you through the big and small things.

Regardless of whether it’s the big events, or the small ones, I am reminded that I never have a clue about what’s going to happen. And as I have written many times before, I recognize that I need a lot of help in navigating my days. Often times, I am not super exceptional in asking for this help—but during the trickier moments, I must admit that somehow people always manage to find me. Be it my closest friend and sister, or the people who see me every day and might not be familiar with the details. Today, like last week, was another of those days.

I can continue to project about what I want and don’t want life to contain. I can be disappointed or even shocked by what circumstances will ultimately serve me. And even right now, I continue to experience an undercurrent of disquiet in accepting that I have lost another major loved one from my life. The older generation is passing. We are next. But ultimately, I do understand and appreciate that it is all about unity. The underlying human connection. One that is found in our closest confidantes—as well as from those who have far less granularity. All of these people carry you to where you need to go. They help you to complete what you need to get done.  I still feel pretty sad—but I’ve got to tell you, I still feel a hell of a lot better than I did this morning.