To be super short . . . .
One of my best friends growing up died this last weekend. For the longest time growing up, he was the peanut butter to my jelly. Just trust me on this one. I think that only a few people really understood our connection. That phone call from my sister took my breath away.
I am heart-broken. Even though I've only seen him a few times over the last few years, I miss his face. I think that we were soul mates, not the married kind, but definitely the connected kind. In my heart, I think that when I get to the other side, he'll be one of the people that's there waiting.
Danny just had a love for life and his smile could light up a room. He was always fearless and adventurous. Whenever we did anything the slightest bit scary, daring, or crazy, he was behind it. He was the life of the party, and yet was a kind, caring, thoughtful, and gentle soul. Many years of my journals are filled with the silly things we did almost every day. Games, movies, puzzles, Lake Powell, dances, and just hiking up the canyon or around town. But mostly, we talked. About everything. He was a great listener and always had something to say. Always. For awhile there, we were pretty connected.
Walking into his viewing was the hardest thing I think I've had to do. Ever. I felt so alone in my grief. I thought I'd be okay, but as soon as I got out of the car, loss hit me like a train. I was sobbing. (Grown woman sobbing. I'm positive it wasn't pretty.) I had to walk around the block before I could even go up the steps. Seeing, hugging, and talking with his family was comforting but I couldn't get myself together at all. The family prayer, funeral, and burial was more of the same. I just can't help but wear my emotions on my sleeve. It's just part of who I am. I was grateful most of my family could be there too. I know they were sad also. Most of my feelings are in my private blog (You didn't know I had one, did you?! Surprise!), and that's where they will stay. Even though I have an eternal perspective, today, I am human. And I'm grieving a life lost. Suffice it to say, burying one of my dearest friends was and still is hard to endure.
The day after the funeral, I was sitting at the table with my nephew, Dante, making play dough cookies. Nobody else was around, and I was just kind of lost in my thoughts as he was playing. He said to me, "Michelle. Grandma told me that your friend died and it makes you really sad. I'm sorry." I told him that it was true, and I was sad, but that it was okay. Looking back, it would have been a wonderful time to talk with him more, but I just wasn't in the frame of mind. What a cute little guy--so sensitive to the feelings of others around him--who is so willing to tell it how it is. I'd been trying to hide my sadness from them, and to have a three year old say that just touches my heart. Love that kid.
I spent many hours the next day with Danny's family. Talking, laughing, reliving old memories, and catching up on life. It was good for my soul. It was as if things had never changed; their family is my family. I think when you can not see someone for awhile, but it's like nothing has changed, that's something special. They talked about how special our relationship always was and how much we meant to each other. In their grief, they opened their arms to me, saw my own grief, and gave me comfort. I'll definitely be stopping by more often. I love them a lot.
Danny, I'll be missing you.
One of my best friends growing up died this last weekend. For the longest time growing up, he was the peanut butter to my jelly. Just trust me on this one. I think that only a few people really understood our connection. That phone call from my sister took my breath away.
I am heart-broken. Even though I've only seen him a few times over the last few years, I miss his face. I think that we were soul mates, not the married kind, but definitely the connected kind. In my heart, I think that when I get to the other side, he'll be one of the people that's there waiting.
Danny just had a love for life and his smile could light up a room. He was always fearless and adventurous. Whenever we did anything the slightest bit scary, daring, or crazy, he was behind it. He was the life of the party, and yet was a kind, caring, thoughtful, and gentle soul. Many years of my journals are filled with the silly things we did almost every day. Games, movies, puzzles, Lake Powell, dances, and just hiking up the canyon or around town. But mostly, we talked. About everything. He was a great listener and always had something to say. Always. For awhile there, we were pretty connected.
Walking into his viewing was the hardest thing I think I've had to do. Ever. I felt so alone in my grief. I thought I'd be okay, but as soon as I got out of the car, loss hit me like a train. I was sobbing. (Grown woman sobbing. I'm positive it wasn't pretty.) I had to walk around the block before I could even go up the steps. Seeing, hugging, and talking with his family was comforting but I couldn't get myself together at all. The family prayer, funeral, and burial was more of the same. I just can't help but wear my emotions on my sleeve. It's just part of who I am. I was grateful most of my family could be there too. I know they were sad also. Most of my feelings are in my private blog (You didn't know I had one, did you?! Surprise!), and that's where they will stay. Even though I have an eternal perspective, today, I am human. And I'm grieving a life lost. Suffice it to say, burying one of my dearest friends was and still is hard to endure.
The day after the funeral, I was sitting at the table with my nephew, Dante, making play dough cookies. Nobody else was around, and I was just kind of lost in my thoughts as he was playing. He said to me, "Michelle. Grandma told me that your friend died and it makes you really sad. I'm sorry." I told him that it was true, and I was sad, but that it was okay. Looking back, it would have been a wonderful time to talk with him more, but I just wasn't in the frame of mind. What a cute little guy--so sensitive to the feelings of others around him--who is so willing to tell it how it is. I'd been trying to hide my sadness from them, and to have a three year old say that just touches my heart. Love that kid.
I spent many hours the next day with Danny's family. Talking, laughing, reliving old memories, and catching up on life. It was good for my soul. It was as if things had never changed; their family is my family. I think when you can not see someone for awhile, but it's like nothing has changed, that's something special. They talked about how special our relationship always was and how much we meant to each other. In their grief, they opened their arms to me, saw my own grief, and gave me comfort. I'll definitely be stopping by more often. I love them a lot.
Danny, I'll be missing you.
Daniel Dale Jenkins Aug. 23-1982---Feb. 4, 2012
"We're meant to lose the people we love. How else would we know how important they are to us?"---from Benjamin Button
"We're meant to lose the people we love. How else would we know how important they are to us?"---from Benjamin Button
1 comment:
I so, so wish I could have been there with you and that I had a better way to break such terrible news. Thanks for writing this post, even if it made me cry.
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