Too Little, Too Late

“Love your neighbors.”  Sometimes THAT’S easier said than done.  I’ve recently been enlightened about this Biblical command because of an incident that rocked our small town a few weeks ago.  But before I get into all that, first let’s talk about this: Grief.

I would NEVER deny that losing a loved one, whether it be a family member or close friend, is a wound that some of us never fully recover from.  The sadness and pain is something we carry with us-- at times the burden being so heavy we cannot bear it alone.  And that process is natural, a horrible part of life most assuredly, but a part of life nonetheless.  Working through the cycle of grief, figuring out how to love and honor ones we’ve lost, can be an long lasting struggle.  An injury that heals one minute, only to reopen the next.  

Admittedly, that type of loss is beyond devastating.  However, we won’t be discussing it today.  Today we’ll be talking about the death of someone on the outskirts of our (or any) social circle.  A random acquaintance, irritating co-worker, quiet postman.  We are still touched by these losses, but (I’d argue) in a much different way.  Usually after learning sad news of this kind, we are initially upset for the person and their family.  Gripped by our own mortality.  But then, if we are honest (*she says with a cringe*), we bounce back to life as usual.  And I’m not declaring that we need to fall to our knees over every loss we experience.  Not at all.  Some of us would spend years not getting off the floor if that was the case.

But here’s my concern: Sometimes we (read: Sometimes I) find it easier to interact with the memory of a person rather than the reality of a person.  We can pick and choose what suits us; editing out the bad and keeping the good.  Obviously this happens over time anyways, no matter how well you knew someone.  You photoshop their life, getting the glossy version of events.  Is this wrong?  Not necessarily.  But for us to take people we barely knew and boil their lives down to a sweet, summarized version of themselves (based only on our limited interactions with them) isn’t doing any favors for anyone.  Including ourselves.  Because this gives us a pass on the grieving train, but do we really belong there?  Knowing someone *just enough* to have a few pleasant memories, but *not enough* to be strongly affected by their passing seems like a tragedy in and of itself.

And P.S. I don’t want it to sound like we have to earn the right to grieve over anyone.  Or that we have to over-invest ourselves into absolutely every relationship we have.  Neither of those scenarios will work out well in the long run.  But I guess my main question is: After someone has passed, why do many of us rush to console the family, to share our few memories of the one gone, to participate in commemorating the deceased…..when we hesitated to involve ourselves in their actual life?

Would you like to understand where all this is coming from?  Let me start from the beginning, the wee morning hours of the Tuesday following our Chili Cookoff:

I can’t remember what I was dreaming about that morning, but it involved strobe lights.  After opening my eyes, I realized those lights were flashing right outside our window.   A firetruck.  I shook David awake and we groggily parted our curtains to look at the house across the street.  No flames were visible, but after a fireman broke through one of the windows-heavy, dark smoke billowed out.  I felt my heart stop.  Another firetruck arrived and more people suited up to go inside.  This flurry of activity seemed to go on for over an hour, with no discernible interruptions or changes.  Then time stood still as a body was brought out, quickly followed by another.  2 people wrapped in white sheets, now laying motionless in their front lawn.  Numb, I could do nothing but stare in shock.  My neighbors were dead.

Memorial flowers outside of their house.

Here’s what I “knew” then: The house across the street was run down.  It looked like the couple inside (older folks) were hoarders, although their front lawn was always nicely maintained (much to my chagrin-as it periodically made us look like the block’s black sheep of landscaping).  We guessed they had a son who did the work for them, since we would see the cab of his semi-truck parked alongside their house sometimes.  They rarely ventured outside of the home.  But occasionally, we’d see them making the slow trek to one of their beater cars for a trip to who knows where (And did I ever say “Hello!” when I saw them?  I honestly don’t remember.  This haunts me).  Because they were reclusive and not openly friendly, we never felt the need to reach out.

Here’s what I know now (after running to give my condolences to their daughter-in-law the day of the fire):  The father had dementia.  He and his wife were both older, so getting outside of the home (especially in its disarray) was difficult.  They have 3 sons, who cared for them and encouraged them to move to a safer place.  But the combination of age, illness, and stubbornness (Don’t we all have family members like this?  Or maybe it’s us!) had convinced the couple to stay put (That morning they died from smoke inhalation).  In spite of his ailments, the father found joy in children.  His daughter-in-law said that he would inch across the crowded rooms of their house to the windows, where he could watch Elijah and I walk Bronx or the neighbor’s grandchildren play in their lawns.  Oh my heart.

The sign one of their sons placed in their front lawn.

Dear readers-getting involved in *real* lives is messy.  Living, breathing people are not always all sweetness and light.  They aren’t edited, glossed over versions of themselves.  They can be strange, sick, or hurting.  But this isn’t an acceptable excuse to keep people at arm’s length; those odd qualities don’t negate the good ones they possess (spoken by a true weirdo herself!).  Here’s Jesus’ take on the issue (from Mark 2:16-17): “When the scribes of the Pharisees saw that He was eating with sinners and tax collectors, they said to His disciples, ‘Why is He eating and drinking with tax collectors and sinners?’  And hearing this, Jesus said to them, ‘It is not those who are healthy who need a physician, but those who are sick; I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners.’”

Words from a previous blog post keep ringing in my ears: “I shouldn’t be so focused on the starving babies of Africa that I miss the family right down the street.”  Oh God, please forgive me.  I now know that for those already gone, a million touching words said at a funeral (although cathartic for oneself and certainly appreciated by the family) cannot compare to just ONE act of kindness done for them during life. Nothing we say (or write) can make up for lost time or missed opportunities.  My guilt about this is huge.  However, I realize this is a me-based feeling NOT a God-based feeling.  Jesus doesn't dole out guilt trips like an overbearing mother.  Instead He is patient with us, so we can be patient with others.  He loves us unconditionally to show us how to love others.  Friends-our time here is so short.  We NEED to start seizing these moments, these opportunities to touch lives, now.  Before it is too late.