One of the lovely things about the friends you make at University is that sooner or later you get to meet their parents. And in the case of exceptional parents, you realize where your friends got some of their finer qualities.
Not all university friendships continue after graduation, but when they do, they become precious gifts. As the years advance, through career changes, children, divorces, hardships, and happy milestones, those university friends become increasingly cherished.
For they are trusted keepers of so many blessed memories.
I met a young couple at University and later participated in their wedding. We’ve been lifelong friends. Even after prolonged absences, when we finally reunite, it’s like no time has passed. We fall right back into the kidding and laughter that filled so many nights in our dorm rooms and around the university campus.
And over the years I was invited to family events with their lovely parents. Good times, and special memories.
But time marches on, and one day in 2011 the call came that one of their parents, Earl, had passed away. So I drove to the memorial service, and watched as his casket was placed in a granite mausoleum. There were tears and hugs and stories shared.
More visits followed over the years, and sometimes Earl’s widow, Kay, would join us. Kay was an intelligent, outgoing, elegant woman. She was a nurse for over 20 years, worked a suicide hotline, and also ran the family plumbing business with Earl.
Kay volunteered and served as president of local festivals. She supported the arts, and most importantly, loved her family with fierce devotion.
Whenever I visited, I loved to tease her, and she always got the better of me with her witty comments. She was a special, wonderful lady.
So you can imagine my sadness when the call came from her son-in-law (my university buddy) to report that she passed away at home. And then my buddy asked if I’d be willing to eulogize her at the memorial.
Of course I agreed. What an honor to be asked.
The memorial was held in Northern California a few days ago. I spoke about Kay’s remarkable life, and how much she loved her family.
But then I added that souls grow weary. And they hear the call of loved ones from beyond the veil.
And so they board a ship with other souls, to take a final journey. We, the ones left behind, gather and wave goodbye from the shoreline. They crest the horizon, and disappear from site. But across that divine ocean there is another shoreline, where a gathering of old souls anxiously await.
And soon the ship arrives, and the ramps are lowered. Kay must have descended the stairs, with tears in her eyes, into the arms of her beloved Earl, who has waited for her since 2011.
After the memorial, I stayed a few days with my friends. Their lovely daughter and her boyfriend flew into town for the service and stayed with us. Their youth, energy, and idealism were infectious.
My friends and I talked about reading glasses and aging and how now, with our parents gone, we are the keepers of the family history, the traditions, and stories. And we talked about feeling a bit irrelevant sometimes, as generational change and advancements seem to antiquate our aging generation.
When I left this morning for the long drive home, we hugged each other a little tighter.
A few hours into the drive my wife called and said the mountain highways were closed due to the winter storm over California and Nevada. “I booked you a room in Carmel,” she said. “Go enjoy the art galleries.”
Carmel is where I used to vacation with my parents. It’s a quaint coastal town, but today it is rainy, cold, and dreary. Each corner and shop holds memories of days past with my parents. I love Carmel, but this visit feels a bit melancholy.
So, I retired to my little motel room, where I am typing this letter on my iPad mini, because I didn’t bring my laptop. It has been an infuriating process of accidental deletions and intermittent cursing. Sometimes I miss fountain pens and paper.
My wife texted later and said I should book a second night, the storm is likely to continue tomorrow. Sound advice, but I’m going to rise early in the morning and head out.
I want to come home.
I want to be with my wife, son, and our two dogs and spoiled cat. I want to cherish every minute with them.
Because if there’s one thing I learned from Kay, it’s that the love of family is what matters most. It’s what sustains us. Gives us joy and relevance.
In this world and the next.
