Bob's wife said it weeks before he passed away recently...
I'm as ready as I can be.
A former pastor and missionary, Bob's decline and eventual death had been anticipated for awhile, having endured a couple of debilitating strokes in the last couple of years. His family all knew he was only a shell of himself and the end, while still sad, had been within view for sometime. His wife had time to resign herself and prepare. Even though she was dearly going to miss him, she knew that his time had come, and she accepted that. All of us in the small country church we attend together accepted that. We were as ready with her as we could be. We knew the news could come any day.
What we weren't ready for was the news that came a few days beforehand. Another parishioner, while out of state on vacation with his wife and family, suddenly passed. The shock was immense. Nobody expected it. Just days before the dear Lord finally took Bob home, we were now faced with having to say goodbye to Kent as well. This loss hit home in a very personal way for many of us but especially, for me and my family. We have been close friends of Kent's for twenty-eight years. I was only nine when we all first met.
He was the hander-outer of lifesavers and mints, the drawer of crazy pictures on your restaurant to-go box, a voracious reader and one of the smartest men I've ever met, your go-to guy for anything mechanical or in need of repair, a garage sale extraordinaire, the best storyteller ever, a lover of Mexican food, a deep thinker, a camping wizard, a fantastic cook, and a man of deep faith in God. He had taken up much space in people's lives for so many years. He was one of those fixtures that you just think will always be there. And you aren't prepared to say goodbye... certainly not in this way and not this quickly. While you are thankful that his passing into glory was swift and painless, you are stunned that this is now reality and you are having to let go of someone who was a constant for so long.
No more Super Bowl parties and laughing at the tv commercials, no more Mexican lunches out after church, no more silly songs about an "Eggplant That Ate Chicago," and no more silver dollars being handed out to kids who lost a tooth.
Can I do this? Can I say yet another goodbye I don't want to say?
In the days that have followed, I've kept coming back to what Bob's wife said and trying to reconcile what it means to be as ready as you can be. I know it's easier when you have a slow decline to adjust to like Bob's, but what about the unexpected ones that you don't see coming? Is there a way to be prepared when there is no warning? Is there a way to accept and embrace the grief when you really don't want to be here in this place at all?
Yet somehow, as I've tried to process all of this admits a myriad of details surrounding two memorial services and many emotions along the way, I also realized something extremely profound. As with the sudden death of my dear friend Alex several years ago, a comfort I now have in my sorrow over this close family friend is that... I grieve with no regrets. Unlike a loss where you feel as though you could've spoken to someone more often or asked them more questions or gotten to know them better... I know that I soaked up every last second of joy and memories with Kent over the years. We made the most of our adventures and experiences and enjoyed the little things that now are so very special and will be in my heart forever. To mourn without a trace of wishing you'd used the time you had differently is a gift all in itself.
And perhaps this is the way to prepare for the future goodbyes you will be asked to say. Not that life becomes morbid and you are always thinking of death as you go about your time with loved ones but, in light of the fact that only God knows how the story ends, you live with an extra kind of intentionality that slows down time and expands time and lets you be fully alive to the present of that moment. At Bob's service, my pastor spoke of how all of this recent loss gives us reason to pause and reflect. I wish it didn't take a season of pain like this to bring people together, to make us set aside our particulars and opinions, to bring us closer and into a greater understanding, love, and appreciation for one another... but maybe this is the hidden mystery of suffering - that a moment that reduces us all to the basis of our humanity can be the reminder we need to move forward with purpose and hope.
The older I become, the more I'm aware that life truly is shorter than most of think. We know that our finite existence isn't forever but we like to live as though it is. And times like these help us refocus and realize that most of the stuff that consumes us isn't what matters in the end. Loving God well is. Loving our neighbor to the fullest is. Being present to the gift of life is. As we've practiced that well, to the best of our human ability, letting go of people or places or things isn't as hard. Yes, there is sadness. Yes, there is transition. Yes, there is a void. But there is also hope and expectation of what comes next. How the sorrow will be used for good in the hands of the Redeemer. There is the choice to keep loving the next person in front of you because you realize your greatest legacy will be left in the hearts of those you touched.
Bob and Kent are now experiencing the reward of their well-done mission. They are receiving the smile of their Savior as He tells them, "Well done." Those of us left will have an adjustment. A major one. And it will take time. But in our grief, we don't mourn without hope. And we sit with the comfort of knowing that God didn't keep them one second longer than their assignment required. We release them to Heaven and know that somehow, we are as ready for this goodbye as we can be. We don't feel ready. We don't want to be ready. But in some mysterious way, God knows we are and we will be okay.
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