Why not getting to bed until after midnight was a good thing yesterday

Yesterday evening we drove 2 hours each way to attend the memorial service of a woman we had never met. She was the mother of one of our dearest friends, Eric, and we went to be there for him and his wife Kat as they went through one of the toughest things a person must face: losing a parent. We had not initially intended to go down – my nascent understanding of Ohio geography does not extend very far south, and I didn’t realize that Mansfield was within “striking distance.” Then another couple we know called theferrett and asked him if he wanted to attend, as they were driving down and could give him a ride. He called me in a mild panic – he had never been to a funeral and was terrified of “screwing it up.” I assured him that he would be fine, then hung up feeling sad – I hated to not be there for our friends, but I had class. Before an hour had passed I realized that class had to be a secondary priority for this night, and made arrangements to go along (mostly consisting of racing home to be there on time).

It was the right choice. Kat said she had almost called just to hear Ferrett’s voice and that she needed a hug from me. It meant a lot to them that we were there. And it meant a lot to us, too. Friendship grows deeper when you share more than just the casual, good times. There is bonding in grief.

During the service I heard a lot about a woman who I regret never getting to know. The well-filled church spoke of her connections to the community and how many lives she had touched, as did the baskets full of cards from well-wishers. As the minister said, there was grief, but it was clean grief, grief for a light too soon gone, and not for unresolved issues that had to be buried. Her dying, a 16-month process, had been one that filled those around her with inspiration. She had met the most terrifying challenge of life and met it well.

I’m wrong, actually, when I say that I never met Eric’s mom. I’ve met her through the kindness and wry humor of her son, and I will know it more through the children whom he and Kat seek to adopt. He spoke of the gifts his mother gave him: a love of books, a kindly outlook, a positive attitude. I know that when he holds his babies in his arms he will remember her, when he selects favorite stories to read to them that the echo of her voice, her cadence, her turn of phrase, will color his own reading. He will pass on that legacy of love and laughter to his children, and they to theirs.

And thus will she live on, and the world will be a better place that she was here.

Fighting the Blues

There is nothing more important in the world than the love of someone who, when you tell them you are having a bad day, will drop everything and take the time to write an email telling you how much you mean to them.

I really needed that today.

Thanks, Ferrett.