Remembering has a way of warming and chilling the heart. Words uttered and left unspoken hover like angels and ghosts over our memories. We are defined by what we say, mournful for what we don’t, and afraid to think about it for too long. Losing people who were part of shaping you is like losing your personality or character. All the conversations, laughter, tears, and understanding are like threads of the tapestry of your life. When those threads are torn away, it can feel as if it will all come unraveled. There are two such threads removed from the tapestry of my life.
You might describe my grandmother as the antithesis of Teddy Roosevelt. She spoke loudly and carried a little stick, but she didn’t mind using it when necessary. I remember the irony of portraying strength and offering comfort, despite my own inner turmoil, while delivering my grandmother’s eulogy. Though my outward composure betrayed any evidence to the contrary, inside, a tsunami of grief was making landfall on my heart. A few things stick out in my memory about her. First, she enjoyed joking with people. There was a teasing nature about her humor, which left everyone in laughter and wondering who was next. Second, she was very talkative. What people say define them. My grandmother said a lot of things. She said funny things, stern things, loving things, and insightful things. Somehow they usually seemed to blend and come full circle in a conversation. One of the most insightful things she ever said was, “everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.” I still remember the weight in the air when she made that statement.
In each of our lifetimes, there is usually one person, or two at most, who understand you. They know what makes you laugh and typically laugh along. They know what makes you tick because the chances are that’s what’s ticking inside them. My best friend was like that and losing him was like losing a part of myself because he was partly responsible for me being who I am. From middle school on, he and I forged a friendship and fellowship that centered around our faith, music, laughter, trips, ministry, and so much more. Generously practical described him best.
It has been several years since my grandmother passed away and my best friend committed suicide, but the impact has not subsided. My grandmother represented strength and stability during the chaos and dysfunctionality of my childhood. My best friend was one of precious few people that understood me, shared my quirky sense of humor, my eclectic taste for music, and was one in whose company I felt I could truly be myself. I’m a loner with a penchant for melancholy, and those losses reverberate in my interactions with others and general disposition on any given day.
Remembering is difficult but helpful. Moments shared and opportunities lost are reminders of the great gift and responsibility of family and friends. This life and our time together are limited, so make it count.