Attending A Memorial...

Ever since I began telecommuting two years ago, I find myself--more and more--actually wanting to stay home. This pandemic gives me a built-in excuse to avoid activities. This past week an opportunity to attend my grade school friend's viewing came up. Aside from the fact that Jeff and I had only connected via Facebook over the past couple of years, it's a funeral. You're literally gathering because someone else can't be there. Plus, I don't really know his family, his kids, his new wife. I wondered if I should even go.

I missed the viewing the night before--I did have a meeting that I could have gotten out of. I didn't--I attended the meeting. Since I didn't work the day of the last viewing and funeral, I knew I could attend. Still, something was stopping me, causing me to second-guess going.

Then, I logged onto Facebook.

Like most people, I have high school friends all over the globe. Ever since the news of Jeff's passing hit, classmates have offered condolences. On the day of the funeral, two friends mentioned how great a guy Jeff was, how they mourned with the family, and both said they wished they could attend the funeral but both were unable to do so.

That's what changed my mind.

Here I was, fifteen minutes from the funeral home and having nothing else to do during the viewing--I decided to go because of dear friends who could not.

When I entered, the only person I knew was Jeff. I spotted his family members, but they didn't know me. I got in line to pay my respects. That's when I ran into another friend who I had not seen in decades. I'm glad he recognized me because if he and I walked by each other outside on the street, there's no way I'd have recognized him. Derek and I chatted, caught up. I met his wife and we talked about things you talk about when you haven't seen someone for a long time.

Our time came to say good-bye. I met Jeff's wife. She thanked me for my blog post, something I was glad to do. I'm happy so many people enjoyed it. She then said something about how life was not going to be easy without him. When she said that and I saw her standing next the the casket of her husband, it reminded me of my mom and when she said good-bye to her husband and my father. My dad passed away months shy of his fiftieth birthday. It was not easy for my mom, either.

As I left, I ran into a good friend of Jeff's, Brad and his wife. After that, came two more high school friends, one of which attended elementary, jr. high, and high school with Derek, Jeff, and I. We caught up and even though I knew hardly anyone else there, I felt like I was with family, people with shared experiences, memories that span almost half a century.

I couldn't stay for the funeral service--I had a meeting I could not get out of, but I am so glad I went to the viewing. The experience confirmed my belief that humans are social animals and that we need each other--when we celebrate and when we grieve. Thanks to Sean and Travis for changing my mind. Thanks to Derek, Carlene, Ronny, Brad, and most of all, Jeff, for reminding me of how amazing a life I've had because I know so many incredible people.

For Jeff...And That Million-Dollar Smile

There's an old joke that goes something like this--When you're a young man, you read the business section of the newspaper, to see how your finances are doing. When you're an old man, you read the obituaries, to see if your friends are still around.

This week, I felt old.

For many of us, we no longer read newspapers--we get our news other ways...Facebook, for example. Thursday night, after finishing up my blog post and posting my daily picture, I spotted a post, a post from someone I've never met. She broke the news that her husband past away the day before. It wasn't Covid or an accident that took him from her, but a heart attack.

The man was someone I've known for decades, a man who, at one time, I counted as a friend, and I suppose I still do, even though we haven't seen each other since our graduation from high school in the mid-1980s...a man who left us all too soon.

As it is with many of the people with whom I attended school, we re-connected via Facebook. I believe a few years ago he reached out to me and we became Facebook friends. He wasn't an avid contributor (or, maybe he was an his and my algorithms didn't line up...), but I saw his posts every now and then. There was one thing, however, that I always noticed--that huge smile. It's in every picture. I know posts and pictures can mask reality--we seem to want to only show our "good" side--but with Jeff, the authenticity exudes from those photographs. And scrolling through his Facebook timelines since his passing, Jeff's happiness and love of life not only came across in the pictures, but was verified by his many friends and loved ones.

It made me wish we could have chatted in person before this past week.

Jeff grew up a few neighborhoods over, next the the cemetery. I may have gone into his house once (memories begin to fade after years and years...). I know his birthday is on July 4th, which, I always thought was cool. Imagine, sharing the birthday with a country and the whole nation celebrating with you every year. I looked at my old elementary school photos. He and I shared a class. I remember him being a stud athlete, too. 

As those of us from Farmington who lived in a time when you could get into Lagoon for free as local residents or could eat at the Tom Boy Cafe continue on our own personal journeys, we'll see others journeys come to an end. Of course, it's not suppose to happen now--maybe in twenty or thirty years. Unfortunately, life doesn't work like that. The greatnesses of life can be offset by the injustices...opposition in all things. Jeff's family is hurting, and all the more so because a man in his mid-50s isn't supposed to leave so soon.

The news floored me, even though we weren't close right now. Seeing childhood friends pass away reminds us of our own mortality--at least, it does for me. Since we don't know the future, we venture forth in faith hoping for the best. I'm sad that Jeff's gone. I pray for his family and friends, and hope they find comfort in their knowledge and memories of a man who loved life--you could see it in that million-dollar smile.