Important Things

I have had a good life, so far. If I am lucky, I am only about a third of the way through it, although I am probably more like halfway. And, I cannot predict the future, so I could be much closer than that.

In my lifetime, I have suffered the loss of several people, very near and dear to me. Born to older parents than most of Generation X, I guess mortality became an issue at a younger age for me than most, which may have something to do with why I am so serious most of the time. As a young child, a knew a few people who passed away, including a couple of the uncles who helped raise my Dad, and were therefore like grandparents to me.

Then, when I was fourteen, my brother-in-law unexpectedly came to school one day to pick me up. I was called into the hallway, and he said, "I don't know how to say this, but your Dad is dead." Numbly I stumbled back to my desk and picked up my stuff, mumbling something to the teacher as I left.

My first thought was, "I wonder how badly the truck is mangled up?” I had gone to school that morning. He had gone to work with my brother. The next thought was, "I wonder if Ted is okay?" I could picture them in the pickup, pulling the trailer behind it with a tractor on it... and getting hit by a semi-tractor.

When we got home, turmoil filling me, I saw the truck, untouched. And my brother was okay, too. It seems my Dad told him that he was feeling a little sick to his stomach and walked away. A little while later, my brother went to check on him and found him there, victim of a massive heart attack. He was 55 years old. I was 14, and my brother 16.

I went back to school after only a day or two out - I couldn't stand to sit around home thinking about what had happened. My school was a small school, where everyone from seventh to twelfth grade went to school in the same building. And, for the most part, everyone knew everyone, at least, by face. After about the hundredth, "I am sorry about your Dad", I really felt like slugging someone. Of course, I just mumbled my thanks and went on. As time went by, the grief grew dim. Years later, I'd have a dream that I woke up in the middle of the night, and he was there, talking to Mom. It had all been a cover-up of some sort. But - it was only a dream.

A few years later, as an adult, my wife and I together experienced a painful loss. Our second child was stillborn. She was in her ninth month of pregnancy, and started having labor pains. We went to the hospital, expecting that we'd go home a day or two later with the baby. But, when they connected the monitors and related apparatus, they couldn't seem to find a heartbeat. Benjamin had gone to heaven before he even saw this world. He was born on Mother’s Day.

The days and months following that seem a blur to my memory now. We were living in another state, far from home, but made arrangements to return to my home for the services. We somehow stumbled through and life went on.

On my son's ninth birthday, my grandparents flew to Pennsylvania to stay with us for a couple of weeks. That evening, after the birthday party was ended, and most of the kids gone home, my Grandfather started having some severe pains. We ended up calling 911, and an ambulance came and took him to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with an abdominal aneurism. The doctor advised us that without surgery, he had a matter of time to live, measured in minutes - or if lucky, perhaps hours. With surgery, he still had a 90% chance of not living.

I will always remember him taking my grandmother's hand, before the surgery, telling her that "We've had a wonderful time together." It was the last time we saw him alive. He was the best inspiration for all of those around him, including the many kids, grandkids, great grandkids and even a great-great or two. He was always striving to be a better person – and closer to God.

Along the way, there have been other deaths of people loved, from older folks like Ms. Florence, Glenn and Ruth, Roy, and just recently, my first grade teacher, Miss Christine. Even my high school classmates that are no longer alive... T.J. and Willie, and then my classmate and cousin Chet.

All of these people meant something to me. They were a part of me.... and now, their bodies are gone, but their memories remain. They have gone on to fulfill their destinies beyond this life. It has been said that I am a little too serious sometimes. I do joke and play with my children... sometimes I let my daughter put girly things in my hair, giving me a 'makeover'... but oftentimes, I find myself filled with a seriousness, even a sadness at the memories of times gone by.

A friend recently told me of someone who died. I didn't know this person, or anything about him. But, there were people who loved him. I wonder if they voiced their feelings. One lesson I learned long ago... that is best expressed by Garth Brooks when he sings, "If Tomorrow Never Comes"... is never to get too busy to tell the ones you love those three little words. I love you. I try to remember to tell my loved ones each day... and if I do forget, my daughter puts me back in line. Because, of all the pain endured when I was fourteen... the worst was the misery of never being able to say goodbye... and I love you.

So, if you have someone near you that you love, tell that special someone. Even if you don't use the words above, it doesn't hurt to at least say, "I care." Don’t assume that there’ll always be tomorrow. Because usually there is, but sometimes there is not.