On an early, cold morning in late spring 1992 as I sat in my recliner nursing my newborn son while I faded in and out of sleep, I got a call that took my breath away and had the horrible honor to call mutual friends and let them know of the passing of friend’s husband. A friend with three very young children. A friend I’d known for years and I recall hoping that it was all just a terrible dream and that I’d awake and he’d be where he was meant to be, with his family and not in the morgue. And yet in the clear light of day, there was no nightmare to awaken from, it was simply the new reality. I had a new baby, was in the midst of packing up our home and moving 3000 miles away and the idea of driving or flying several states away for the funeral seemed insurmountable. But I’ve regretted not going so many times. Funerals are not for the dead, they are for the living and I wished I’d been there for my friend in a more present way.
In June 2004 I was awoken from a deep, deep sleep by the phone ringing. I knew no good news came at the hour shown on the clock and I can still hear myself saying OH NO! OH NO! NO NO NO! over and over and over and my husband bolted upright, sat silently next to me with his arms tightly around my collapsed body as I received the news of a drunk driver having run over my beloved uncle as he rode his brand new bicycle, a gift just the day prior, with his young son the day after Father’s Day on an otherwise beautiful and perfect June Monday in California. I again made the dreaded, needed calls. Then I coordinated all the travel for my mother to travel 6,000 miles roundtrip and was admonished by my father how wasteful and stupid it would be for me to travel back to attend the funeral. And I regret it almost daily.
Yesterday afternoon I received the heartbreaking news of the passing of my oldest friend’s oldest son. A beautiful, tall, funny and smart 20 year old at college. As I reached out again to mutual friends and shared this heartbreaking news, it occurred to me what an honor it is to be there for friends in their time of deepest needs. That being a friend isn’t about the fun and laughter that you share so much as it is the ability to be truly emotionally naked with another human being. To bare your soul, your innermost passions and fears, to connect in a way that you simply could not do with a stranger or even an acquaintance. To have silence and togetherness be enough when you don’t have words. To feel that strong hug over the telephone when you are physically apart, but lovingly connected. Right now there are many hands to help, many arms to physically hug, meals flowing in, bodies filling space so that their home doesn’t feel the emptiness that will surely be there, to some degree, for the rest of their days. I’d made the decision not to fly out for the funeral, even knowing how deeply I regretted missing others.
But I knew I would not have regret because I also knew by going later, when those geographically close had gotten back to life and my friend and her family were going to still need emotional salve and someone who isn't living that pain in the first person way they are, to be there for them. And then an amazing change of plans meant I could both be there for them and attend the service. It has been delayed until December, the week before Christmas.
I won’t say I know what they are going through, because my heart can barely stand to think of the task that lies ahead of them, simply getting through each day for the rest of their lives without their child here on earth, but I’m humbled and honored to be there and help in any possible way.
And I can't think of anything I would not give for a time machine to go back and have this all be so very, very different. I'd go back many years, not just to last week, but that time machine would surely be making a stop on 11-17-2014.
God be with those who have lost those they love, God be with those we love, God be with us.
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