Farewell

Our friends’ son passed away last evening after a year-and-a-half battle with brain cancer.  He was 35 years old, leaving behind a wife and young daughter.

I imagine him living on in the hearts and souls of his loved ones, safe from the invasion of renegade cancer cells.  He will shine there, sparkling and brightening their grief, reminding them to love fully and draw close to each another.

He will not become only a misty memory, but will be honored in beautiful moments when sacrifice and joy define the same love he knew: when humility outshines pride, generosity rules greed, happiness overwhelms envy.  Those who loved him will be inspired to live generously, unselfishly, and courageously. And then one day they will see his radiant face once more, and be blessed beyond any earthly measure.

His mother is my “sista.”  It’s a pet name, something that happened one day in a text message.  I can’t fully understand her loss, her depth of hollow mourning.  But I can stand with her and wonder at the gift of her son's life - a divine blessing that extended from her own being, and yet now is no longer present. No parent expects to be preceded in death by a child, and yet this crushing loss won’t consume her. Rather, she may only see more clearly those things that matter, and as a result, live an illumined reality.