Hello, everyone. This weekend I had the very sad task of supporting a friend at her mother’s funeral. Her mom was in her 60s. She wasn’t old. She was smart. She was well-loved. She was respected. She was gone. In the twinkling. Seriously, she was up and talking to her oldest daughter and then several hours later, she was gone.
The email that shared her passing was so raw, so painful. It read simply “Mom’s gone”. I knew what it meant immediately. My heart dropped when I read the words. Still, I asked “What do you mean gone?” And there was the conversation. A few days later, Saturday, I found myself and Honeybee strapped into carseats and seatbelts and on our way to support a young woman I’ve known for over 25 years.
At the funeral, I sat behind my girlfriend at her request. I willed her my strength and love as she rolled to the front of the funeral attendees and read a poem for her mother. The poem was beautiful. It was absolutely beautiful. But there was a line. One line that stopped me and has stuck with me ever since. She wrote to her mother “You taught me how to live and not just to exist”. That buried itself within me. It really did.
I’m 35 years old and, while I love the life that God has blessed me with, I had to ask myself “Am I living or am I existing”. I have to admit my life has settled into a rather predictable routine despite my desperate attempts otherwise. I get up about the same time every morning. I say my prayer, which is unfortunately not near as intimate as it should be. I get up, wash and brush teeth, and then get dressed. I walk into Honeybee’s room and pop on the light. The same greeting of “Good morning” greets her and she smiles at the routine. I hear Superbug walk toward his room and he gives his good morning hugs. I go through my routine. Making sure Honeybee potties. Making sure she’s dressed. Making sure the children eat. Making sure Honeybee says goodbye to her grandmother and father. Making sure I leave the house at the same time Superbug exits to stand at the bus stop. Sure enough there comes his bus and I wave as it drives by and he within.
