21!
To a friend I miss more than words can say...
May seem funny what time is able to do,
Especially when it comes to memories of you.
What used to be so easy to say,
Now might take me forever and a day.
You meant more to me than you'll ever know,
I know I meant more than you allowed yourself to show.
Today is something special for you,
No words I could say could be more true...
I know this is silly, and I know I'm a dork,
But I love you always from here to New York!
Happy Birthday, Matt.
In an old place.
I sat today in a familiar chair. I was surrounded by faces I knew, though difficult to see through the air of sorrow. The reasons I was present seemed to make sense until I arrived in the sanctuary. The room was filled with the aroma of candles and flowers and tears. They called it a 'Celebration of Life'. I saw the reality of so many souls trying to make sense of a loss, but overflowing with grief. The truth is that even though we may want to "celebrate" a friend who is with the Lord- we go to be with others who feel our PAIN.
It's been years since I have attended a funeral/memorial/celebration of life service. I don't like going, and I usually find a way to avoid going. I think I can count on one hand each one I have been to. The first was my dads. I was thirteen, and the only clear memories of that day are what I have re-lived through letters and part of the service on tape. Since then I have attended Melissa's, Aubrey's, and Greg's. Melissa and Aubrey were friends of my family. Melissa was like a sister, having spent countless holidays with her family. I remember getting that phone call, and flying to Colorado. Aubrey was one of my brother's best friends. I remember that I didn't cry. I felt no emotion. Greg was my Aunt's boyfriend. I had just spent the day at the fair with him. I had dreamed of his death before it happened. All three were sudden. There was no illness. No time for anyone to say good-bye.
Ron passed away in December. He had been sick for a year and a half. We knew his passing was coming. I anticipated the tears, and the heartache for his wife and children. I knew that my shoulder was needed as a comfort, that several around me would depend on my strength. What I had failed to prepare myself for was the wave of emotions that would swell over me like a tsunami. I picked up my brother and we rode in silence. I know this is affecting him more than he knows, or has the words to verbalize. As I sat in the rear section and glanced around the room I remembered. The last BIG service I can recall Warehouse facilitating was Randy's. He was 40 when he died suddenly of a heart attack. He left behind a shocked widow, and two young and fragile children. His daughter was the only one of his immediate family to speak at his funeral. Had his family been prepared for his death, they might have come up with something clever to call it, but they didn't so it was called a funeral. Pastor Mike did the service, and it was heart wrenching. Many people were able to 'hold it together' through the worship, until his little girl rose in front of several hundred people to share what her father was to her. By the time she sang the first note of her own rendition of 'wind beneath my wings', there was not a dry eye in the whole building. At the end of the first verse you could watch her as her emotions overwhelmed her and tears began to stream down her face- she couldn't even speak. If you were paying close enough attention, you would have seen Cathy (a member of the worship team) lean in to her, and begin to sing the words so softly into her ear. His daughter finished the song, and let everyone know her sorrow, in the only way she knew how.
I heard a quote once that said something to the effect of "A true friend is one who knows the song of your soul and can sing it back to you when you forget the tune". I don't think I ever understood the meaning until those first few days of January, and I contemplated the Stilwell's loss. I thought about that day, when I, at quite possible my most venerable moment ever, forgot the words to my song. I was overcome with grief, and my heart was broken. And it was Ron's wife, Cathy that stood behind me and sang me the words of my song... My song to my dad. I watched her today as the crowds of people came to give her hugs and assure her that everything will be okay. I remember that time, as a line of people tried to tell you they they understood (they did after-all, their dog died...). Words on a day like today are empty. They mean nothing when your heart is shattered into a millions unrecognizable pieces.
As slides were shown, videos and songs shared, and hearts poured out into a sea of tear stained faces, I wept. I wept for the loss of Ron, and for the journey his family had just begun. I wept for Kristin and Caleb, and the feelings only another father-less kid can understand. I wept for the speakers who couldn't find words to do a man that they loved justice. I wept for my brother who couldn't come to terms with the loss of his own father. I wept for my broken mother, who's own wounds were freshly exposed, and who's daughter was no longer available to comfort her. I wept for the empty hearts who don't understand heaven, and the promise that was given through Jesus Christ. I wept for Cathy, because I knew nothing I could do or say would ease her pain, or comfort her.
Finally, I wept for myself. For the little girl who had to grow up to damn fast. For the little girl who became a crutch. For the girl who learned to stay strong, regardless of the cost. For the daughter who never got to say good-bye. And, for the woman who beginning to see a small glimpse of the little girl she used to be. I wept, and I opened my heart.
I often wonder what it would have been like if my dad had been ill. What would have changed, and would I be different today if I had got to say good-bye? I suppose I will never know.
In Braveheart, William Wallace says : All men will die, but not all men will truly live.
I want to live.
