Saying Goodbye

It's one of those things, working at a grief center, one would think you might get used to, or at least be prepared for, the death of a dear friend, especially when you met that friend through the grief center.  One might think it might be easier, or less surprising.

One might think it's not so much of a shock when that person is 93.

Here's the thing--it's not.  None of it is easier or less of a shock.  It's not something we're prepared for, or something we get used to.  It still hits us like a ton of bricks.  We just saw him less than two weeks ago, driving himself around, making his holiday rounds, visiting, laughing, chatting.  He just renewed his driver's license, and joked about not having to renew it again until he would be 98.  Many of us thought for certain he would be there in line, paperwork in hand.  His death was unexpected, and it has hit us hard.

Today, we celebrated the life of our dear friend, a dear member of our grief center family.  I don't think it could've hit me any harder if he were blood related.  Mr P was a gentleman I became very attached to over the past two years.  He's very dear to me, and very easily found a spot in my heart.

A true southern gentleman, we all referred to him by his surname, even when he insisted we call him by his first.  It was a matter of respect, and a title he was due.  I remember learning, when I met him, that he was 91, and wondering if someone had transposed the numbers.  Are we sure he's not 19?!?!?! I won't even call him an old man, because he wasn't.  Age was just a number to him, as well as an attitude.  He was spry, with a spring in his step, a smile always on his face, even after losing his wife, the love of his life, whom he adored.  He was one of those people who smiled with his eyes. Mr P still worked the family farm, shopped for himself, drove himself to his appointments, took care of his ailing wife right up until her last day, and kept up with his family.  He volunteered at our grief center, and visited with me every Thursday, always leaving at a certain time during hay season.  His son told me today that haying was off-limits on Thursday mornings, to make time for his visits to our center.

Mr P knew my family, always asking after them by name.  Introduced to Shawn and my boys only once, he remembered them each time after.  We talked about many things during our Thursday morning visits--his farm, his great grandson (one of 6) who was Avery's age, and also in preschool, how funny it would be to see Lilly at his farm with the cows (she had an open invitation to herd his cows); he shared stories about growing up and how different what we now know as a large city was as a small town then.  He told me about his wife, and his children.  And sometimes, we just simply sat, drinking our tea or coffee, and I would hold his hand.  Whether he realized it or not, he taught me about life, about marriage, about God, and about enjoying the moment.  It was an honor, a pleasure, and a privilege to serve him each week.

I was surprised today to find out these things meant as much to Mr P as they did to me.  I was surprised to be mentioned by name as someone from our little center who made a difference to him, surprised his family knew me by name, surprised his daughter remembered both myself and Shawn from the very few times we've met.  It is truly humbling.  In my job 'title,' I was there at the center for Mr P (and others like him), but so often, I know we were there for each other.  Friendship.

One of my favorite stories is from when he was suffering from acid reflux--he'd been through several doctors, a variety of medications, and the latest doctor was talking about some very scary things as the next steps.  Mr P came to visit that week and said, "Well Amy, you know what I did? I looked up remedies on the internet and I found one that works!"  He sure showed those doctors!

I know I am not the only one who is going to miss this beloved man.  Listening to his daughter speak today, he was loved by many, and he loved many.  He loved life, and he lived it to the fullest from his very youngest of days.

I'm going to miss his hugs.  I'm going to miss the way his eyes smiled, how they crinkled up when he smiled.  I will miss holding his hand, and kissing that papery cheek.  I will miss his kindness and his sincerity. I am sad, and my heart is filled with loss.  I'm going to miss my dear friend--but I will be honest in saying that I'm grateful we serve a loving Father, our God who has brought dear Mr P home, reunited him with his wife, and, having made them whole again, given them everlasting life.  I am grateful for the time I had with him, for what he taught me, and for his friendship.  I am grateful for Mr P, plain and simple.