Go Go Go and Stop

By 11:30am this morning I felt like I'd just ran a marathon.  We got up and went to the grocery store, the drug store, McDonalds and the gas station.  Then there was the making (more like assembling) of two separate dishes from my grocery store purchases, getting showered, appropriately dressed and made up, then doing the same for Spence, loading up all the food into the car, driving twenty miles to drop off Spencer and then back in the opposite direction towards my final destination.  All of that by 11:30am.  I was so focused on getting everything done in time that I never even stopped, never even paused, to think about why I was actually doing all of this.

I walked into the building and found a place to sit- which was difficult because it was jam packed full with people.  I couldn't even find my mom, so I just sat down in one of the arm chairs they put out since all of the regular seating was full. As I sat there catching my breath the cloying scent of too many flowers in a confined space wafted over, tickling my nose and snapping me back to reality.  I was at a funeral.  The second time in two weeks that death had visited someone in my life.

The man who passed away is (was) my best friend's father-in-law.  But he was more than that- he was a family friend and The Best Man to my Maid of Honor.  One week before Sara's wedding, her soon to be father-in-law received the news that would forever change their lives.  He was diagnosed with an extremely rare neurodegenerative disease.  It was similar to ALS in that it would rob him of his ability to move and speak, all while his mind worked just fine.  But ALS has a life expectancy of 1-2 years after diagnosis, while his was 4-7 years.  That might sound like the better of the two deals, but trust me, it's not. All it meant was that he was trapped in his body longer.

A few days before the wedding they gave me the news.  It wasn't something they were ready to share with anyone yet, but I needed to know.  I was the maid of honor and he was the best man- he would climb the steps to the alter and then escort me down them and out of the very large church.  He was worried that he might trip, stumble, or fall in front of everyone- he didn't want to embarrass his son or do anything that might take the focus off of the bride and groom. To the untrained eye it might have looked like he was escorting me, but I was there for him.  As we linked arms on the alter stairs I could see the nervousness in his eyes, I gave him a little nod and squeezed his arm- I wanted him to know that I wouldn't let anything happen.  And it didn't.

He was a good, kind man.  At the viewing last night, the line to greet his wife was over an hour wait; over 500 people came to pay their respects and it took over five hours.  The service today was beautiful, filled with pictures, loving anecdotes and eulogies.  As I sat there in that arm chair all by myself, tears filled my eyes.  I had been going, going, going and now that I had stopped, the sadness of it all just become so real to me.  The unfairness.  He was a very active man- played tennis, ran every day, an avid skier, world traveler, dancer, and a successful owner of his own business.  He was a man's man, a gregarious Southern Gentleman, a devoted father to his son. It's a terrible disease for anyone to have, but it was particularly cruel for a someone like him.  Everything he was, everything he loved to do, it was all steadily taken away from him, with no hope that it would ever get any better.

Sara's son was born a few months ago and I had the privilege of taking some family photographs of them.  Sara's little boy was named after his grandpa, but it was going to be a surprise. In the hospital room I stood to the side as a son introduced his newborn son to his father.  I watched as he told him what his grandson's name was.  I took picture after picture, the flood of tears spilling out of my eyes made it a little difficult for me to see. It was a beautiful moment.  And even though he couldn't move, couldn't speak- the love and pride he felt shone in his eyes.  This is the picture I took the moment he found out the name of his first grandson.

They truly were the only windows into his soul, and they spoke volumes. 

After the funeral was over I was in charge of collecting all the food and driving it over to the post-graveside lunch reception.  I started feeling the urge to Go, Go, Go and accomplish my task.  But then I said to myself, Stop.  Life is so short and so much of it is spent just running through the motions and getting to the next thing all on autopilot. It's hard for me to press pause and savor the moment, but it's something I'm going to try to do from now on.  I don't want to miss the important moments or breeze right through them without realizing that I am.  Sometimes you just need to Stop.