His mother sat at his feet, his sister lying next to him, and his grandparents and uncle surrounding them all like a blanket of love.
And the silence of grief filled the room.
The silence was almost tangible, because the silence carried echoes of a personality that made so many smile and reflected the deep trust that God would never let him go. It carried echoes of laughter by his mother, resisting the pounding pressure to become buckets of anxiety. It carried echoes of games played with nurses, chaplains, and his family, including uncles he deeply loved beating. It carried echoes of more coughs than could be counted, but just as many jokes told and nurses razzed and doctors given a hard time. It carried echoes of resilient declarations to keep going, to never give up. Yes, the silence carried echoes of a life well lived and a family well loved.
And we sat in that silence for a while.
Until the chair was moved, and the screech of its drag across the ground broke the silence. It was a short sound, nothing terrible, but it jolted us.
The jolt was enough though. It made space for echoes to become words and stories told. Until the jolt, grief carried in just echoes. That’s where grief starts every time. But after that simple jolt to the silence, there were not only echoes but laughs and memories and proclamations of legacy and storytelling galore.
That jolt got me thinking about how X did that very thing to those he came across in his life. He just seemed to jolt people out of their “silence” and get them moving towards storytelling. His life was full of resilience from the moment he was diagnosed with CF. He filled his life with breaths that mattered, and had a devotion for his family that was astounding. The way he and his mother interacted with staff, you could not walk out of their room without being jolted- probably into laughter- but more so into amazement at the life they created together.
There was a way in which he and his mother faced life with every honesty they could, and refused to back down without some crazy “fighter” mentality. No, there wasn’t a constant refrain that he was a fighter. Rather, there was a constant refrain that he loved his family and loved time with them. He fought not because he was a boxer demanding every round, but a son and grandson and brother who delighted in every moment with them. That’s what jolted us all. That’s what jolted me. I was so moved by his delight in his family, so moved the family’s delight in him, I just couldn’t help but be amazed. The way the family delighted in anything and laughed, it was infectious and invited a desire of so many to want to be a part of them. It meant something to be considered a part of X’s family, and it made my day to hear it. Yes, it was this sense of family and the delightful love that could be present there that jolted us into something better.
Family, faith, fun. This boy and his mother had all of that in droves. They exemplified how Gods delight in us can be lived amidst a group of people who love each other. In the last year, I needed that jolt and that presence. It made me a better parent, a better brother, a better chaplain, a better person- a more joyful person really. It reminded me of Gods presence and made me want to tell people of this family just like in that room, that jolt helped us start telling stories about X.
What a gift from God!
God lived in X profoundly. God loved X profoundly. And he loved God, and his mother, his sister, his grandparents, his uncles, just as profoundly. What a gift to serve them and serve X. Sometimes we just need that jolt right?