Alan Mills
Alan Mills passed away suddenly a few days ago.
He was 68.
Alan was in my high school graduating class.
He wasn’t the first in my class to die. And Alan and I weren’t friends. I probably hadn’t seen him in 25 or 30 years.
But his death has really impacted me this week.
That’s because Alan Mills was born on Saturday, August 10, 1957 at Milford Memorial Hospital.
I was too.
When I transferred to Milford High School, I told my Mom I had met Alan Mills and his birthday was the same as mine.
She said, “Oh I remember him! He was Edgar and Betty’s little boy. He was born almost the same time as you, and when we were leaving the hospital the nurses joked that we better make sure we’re taking home the right baby!”
Two boys, same hospital maternity ward, same day.
Alan and I joked a few times that maybe I was a Mills and he was a Sammons.
We knew it wasn’t true, but it was funny. To us.
The part that hit me was Alan was only minutes younger or older than me, and his name was called.
68 years, 3 months, and 18 days.
Why him? Why not me?
How many more days do I get?
Why do I get them?
And, what am I going to do with them?
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Alan was the salt of the earth. A farmer. A husband and father, and a good man. May he rest in peace, and God comfort his family.
One thing we know… we have more days behind than ahead. So we need to live each day to the fullest. Leave nothing unsaid or undone if possible. RIP Alan.
These are good questions for each of us every day…what are we going to do with the time we have…What Kaye said!⬆️