The Irony of a Short Run
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Fi_njoEjCWFWzFsTQMqfB8-zq7ondQGGE_1EXCX5sm6itFW86pwnYwwg3OaoNBBTItO20wodoMEvnMhlA0SWqTJY-DnGl_xP0nz1e2DNUoPr1aR5zyrItHQCJiyrfithTLTcVHx7TqN-m6GL7BEy_EOmm_9t5UQEfpT4kN1ANi2tFsKMhoIyT0O6/w400-h236/Roger%20Kolehouse.png)
I was out early this morning for my usual jog. It was chilly with a few fleeting flakes of snow blowing around. I took my usual winter route that takes me though Greenwood Cemetery on the Northwest side of Grand Rapids. It's an old cemetery that I have been coming to since I was a kid. There's a creepy old 19th century caretakers house up on the hill. It serves as an office now, but every morning I pass by it, I imagine how the caretaker used to live there in decades past. Today, when I slowly jogged past that old brick house and rounded the hill, I saw the yellow trucks and back hoe digging a new grave. The workers were still there working the equipment trenching the ground. This isn't that unusual, it's a cemetery after all. So, as I passed by, I briefly acknowledged things and went on with my run, not thinking much more of it. Last Sunday... I got a text from an old friend of mine letting me know that his uncle, that I knew quite well, had died. I've know my fr