Lessons from the Dead

My friend the Yogi has been through too many trials for someone in her 30th year. In the last five years, she's lost both her mother and her brother under tragic circumstances. Her brother was killed less than three years ago in a car accident. I saw him just two weeks before it happened. He and his wife we so happy with their two young children. "We are having so much fun," his wife said to me. Then, abruptly and cruelly, the fun stopped.

The whole family was devastated, and rightly so. This brother, father and son was really cool guy, someone who managed to be sensitive but still manly. And, most importantly, someone who loved his family dearly and made sacrifices for them. Had he lived, I feel certain he would have become an important man in politics, eventually, after his children were past young childhood.

In many ways, the bond of loss drew the Yogi and I closer together. In between her losses, I lost my father. Grief understands grief. I've tried to be the best friend possible from a distance of 500 miles.

Recently, the Yogi's sister-in-law made a difficult choice: she was going to get remarried. And not just to some dude, but to her late husband's best friend. It was an emotional choice and one that neither of them took lightly. Apparently, feelings had been brewing for quite some time on both sides, both of them ignored these feelings for a while, but eventually these things have a way of bubbling to the surface. So, they bubbled, they got engaged, and now they've formed a new family.

Instead of doing a traditional wedding announcement, I found an article in their local newspaper commemorating my friend's brother. It's about all the things his friends are doing to remember him. There's a golf tournament, a scholarship, outings with his children, and the list goes on. The recent remarriage of his wife is mentioned, but the emphasis is on her late husband's legacy. The point of the article is that if a person is measured by the loyalty his friends have to his memory, he must have been a great man.

All of this got me thinking, if I died tomorrow, would my friends by that loyal to my memory? Have I created a tightly woven network of people would feel an instability in their foundation if I disappeared? The answer, I'm afraid, is no. Maybe I'm just not that engaging (possible) but I think it's more that I haven't gotten involved, haven't sacrified of myself. I wasn't raised in a household that did that for other people. My mother is selfish, and I've followed in her footsteps.

Though it's common to canonize the dead, in some cases the person who died deserves the credit for a life well-lived. Such is the case here. It speaks volumes that, years after his death, friends that have busy lives, who've moved on, married and had more children are still gathering in his memory.

I want that sort of network. I want that sort of meaningful life. I just don't know how to get it. I figure getting involved in something is a good start, even if it's just a yoga class or running club where I can at least meet people. Then, I can work to strengthen the bonds I do have, to listen more than speak, and help even when it's terribly inconvenient for me.