How do you measure, a year in the life?

The argument that really ingrained itself in me is that of age-based discrimination having a focus on biological status… I recently lost a dear and cherished friend of mine, Jasmine, to an array of complications from Lupus. On September 30, 2013, just two days past her 19th birthday and after 14 years of grueling bi, sometimes even tri, weekly dialysis treatments, Jasmine passed away. I know this seems a bit off-topic, but a preface is pivotal to the comprehension of my thoughts. I was fortunate enough for Jasmine to come into my life in 2010. Stunted by her kidney failure, Jasmine was a mere 4 feet, 7 inches tall, yet, she had the personality and life of a giant. Throughout the three short years that Jasmine and I spent together she, time after time again, taught me some of the most amazing, insightful, remarkable lessons. When out in public or just sitting around school, Jazz would often receive comments of “apathy,” but really they were more like pity. It was always the same, unspoken message, “I am so sorry that you have this disease. You're life expectancy is much shorter now, so take more advantage of your time here.” Jazz would politely smile and extend her appreciation, but as soon as we were alone once again she would always turn to me and emanate the same frustration. She would always tell me that she finds it so difficult to understand where people are coming from when speaking to her (in the manner above). She would always say, “Rach, I don’t get it. I am not dead yet. My kidneys are at this moment still filtering. Why is everyone always so eager to talk about my death, when at this point in time, my death is as uncertain as theirs?” Then Jazz, with every opportunity she got, would remind me (what she called, “refresh” my memory) that “we always have to be thankful for what we’ve got, no matter how much or how little,” and that “nobody is broken, just blessed to be different.” These two rudimentary life-lessons are two of the most influential ones. At Jasmine’s funeral, a family member stood in front of the congregation and claimed that Jazz’s life was unjustly taken from her before she was able to accomplish all that she could. While I appreciate Jasmine’s aunt’s sentiment, I also find it to be extremely inaccurate and misleading. On her 19th birthday, two days before her passing, Jasmine told her mom that she “was done.” She said that she could not find her body anymore. I would say that Jazz’s aunt’s tribute was in reality the opposite of the truth. Jasmine might have only breathed for 19 years, but she lived for much more than that. Jasmine encapsulated the wisdom, perception, and tenacity of, what some might say, an “elder.” In the hours before leaving us, Jasmine told her mom it’s “ok to be sad because you miss me. That is alright, I will miss you too. But after [you come to] terms with me not coming back, please do not ever cry for me again. Just smile. You have to smile mom and remember that I am free from my body and that my soul is now your angel.” If Jasmine was just a “naïve child” when she died, then the rest of us have no hope. I did not realize until right now that Jasmine left me with one final moral: age is something from within, and by no means does it have to amount to our physical existence on earth. Observation: An elderly woman in a wheelchair was having a hard time crossing the street. Rather than helping her, the cars only honked...