John

John--

For awhile I have been giving thought to this blog.  It is important to me to write it, but try as I will, the words are elusive.  They seem far, far away.  This happens sometimes.   Feelings and thoughts swirl around in my head but don't make their way to this page.  This is the time to simply do it.

A few weeks ago a group of guys celebrated winning the state baseball tournament twenty-five years ago.  Our son was a member of that team.  It was a lovely time of celebration and remembrance.  I visited with all the team members.  Learned where they live, how many children they have, what careers they chose.  Twenty-five years melted away in a moment.  I saw them all as the high school guys who walked the halls of our school.  Some played several sports.  Others performed in my chorus.  A group of cool guys then and now.

Seeing all the parents again was wonderful.  We shared stories of that year.  We laughed.  We listened as team members gave speeches of remembrance.  They told us what they learned from being on the team.  What life lessons their coach instilled within them.  We parents were delighted to share that evening with our special team.

Everyone was happy.  Everyone in that room was full of joy.  People hugged.  Shook hands.  Smiled.

And then the unthinkable happened.  One of the fathers died.  Suddenly.  Without warning.  He was there that night laughing and visiting with all the guys and other parents.  I remember talking briefly to him.  His eyes were dancing with such happiness.  His son was there to celebrate, and he got to spend that precious time with him.   Who would have thought that that night would be the last celebration his family shared.  Who would have believed that soon he would know what we will all know one day.

He was a good man.  A funny guy.  A guy who loved to tease with young people.  Who loved his wife and children beyond measure.  Who treasured his grandchildren.  Who had  tons of friends.  Who never met a stranger.  Who would do anything for others.

We need more like him in this world.  More who do what he did when his son was playing little league.  My husband coached the team his son played on.  Our son played on that team, also.  My husband shared this story with me after we learned of his death.  He said it was time for a game to begin.  In the distance he saw one of his players walking with his father.  The player was carrying his uniform all nicely folded.  It seems the player had not finished a book report.  His father had told him if it wasn't finished, he would not play ball.  The father stood firm.  His word meant something.  He knew how important it was for his son to play ball, but he also knew it was a moment to teach a valuable lesson.  Even though it probably meant a challenging evening at home, he did what he said he would do.  My husband had great respect for him from that day forth.

An illness gives us time to prepare.  We have time to gather those things that we will need when the time together ends.  We have time to visit and remember.  To share.  When someone leaves quickly,  it knocks us off our feet.  Our balance is shattered.  We don't know how to feel or behave.  Questions flood our minds.  Did we do this or that?  Were we loving enough?  Could we have prevented this from happening?  The questions haunt us.  People try to be a comfort, but comfort is elusive.  We need one more moment.  One more word.  One more hug.  But, it will not be.

At times like this we grasp the real meaning of life.  It isn't about stuff.  It is about people.  It is about times shared.  Lives lived together creating a home.  Special moments.  It is about loving one another well.  Getting over hurts.  Getting on with celebration.  Learning from mistakes.  Growing through disappointments.  Accepting what we cannot understand.  Reaching out to others in kindness and grace.

I am grateful for the years he walked this earth.  For the lives he touched.  For the memories he gave to others.  For the family he and his wife created.  For the children and grandchildren who adored him.

And I am thankful for that one small moment when our eyes met, and we smiled at one another amid the chatter and laughter of a twenty-five year celebration.