Such Great Heights

A good friend of mine died two Sundays ago. My tears were light because he'd had cancer for nearly two years and now he is no longer suffering. The majority of my tears were for me. Why does death bring out the most selfish desires and thoughts? I wanted him to be back to his original, pre cancer, body and days. I wanted him to meet my husband, whom he'd never had the pleasure of meeting. I wanted to talk to him about a couple of friends of ours who didn't seem to be doing well. I wanted his advice about a move we were going to make. I wanted to talk to him about the things God had been telling me and get his prayer and help concerning these very hard things. I missed him for me.

The viewing was the first I'd been to for someone other than family. The lines was somber and long, the mood quiet. There was the occasional sniff, the occasional loud cry choked back for modesty's sake, but overall, a sober crowd paying last respects. I went with my boss, who is also a friend of mine. We talked about him and most of the stories made us laugh, which was out of place in this crowd, but definitely on par for his life.

What is there about seeing the vacant house that once held the soul of my friend that brings others to tears? Seeing him there, vacant, caused the threat of tears to stop. This wasn't him. He was long gone, enjoying his present hope. I don't know why I paid so much attention to the look on his face. He had a slight smile on his face and I thought, "that's how I want to look when I go." There was a picture of him pre-cancer, and that picture made me cry. That was who I missed, not this guy. I couldn't find tears for his parents, but I found a smile and a word of encouragement.

The funeral brought together many old faces, people who had gone out of my life were back again, but in tears, not in joy. There was some joy, I guess, because we didn't relish the idea of more suffering, but there was much sadness because the clown we'd known and loved was gone. Two months before, he'd almost died from pneumonia. When he came through it, he started earnest preparations for his funeral. He knew his time was coming and he wasn't going to fight it. His brother said that, after he'd died, they left the room to call people and he came back thirty minutes later. Somehow, amazingly, there was a smile on his face. One of his last requests was that we release ballons at the burial site. The officiant at his funeral said it was because he'd always loved balloons, but I think there was another reason. I think that he wasn't sure how he would think about the things and people on earth when he was in heaven, but, if there was a chance he could see us, he'd know we were paying our respects to him when the first strain of balloons hit the sky.

Mine was yellow, Jeff. I love you.