That was then. This is now.

[captainsblog]

I got an email the other day from a friend I knew from high school days. He was writing to me, and another mutual friend, in case we hadn't heard that our friend Janice had died earlier this year.

Gently, I replied that I did know, and had been at her memorial service. He wrote again today, because even though he lives much closer to where she had, he knew virtually nothing about what had happened other than what was in the obituary.

In the course of filling him in on that, it brought back all those memories, of forty years ago and also of barely six months gone by. I found my heart again flooded, both with hurt but also with happiness for all the good things this world, and my life, gained from a few of Jan's twoscore and ten years spent with us.

Rarely does a day go by when I don't think of something that she influenced. The weeks are few without a distinct memory of her. When we watched the James Taylor/Carole King DVD the other night, and saw a 68-year-old Brooklyn pianist rocking out and smiling her fool head off, my wife said, "You know, I could picture Janis Joplin looking kinda like that if she was still with us." I'd already thought, but did not say out loud, how much that face, and smile, and talent reminded me of another woman named Jan who I'd seen in life, and celebrated in loss, within the past twelve months.

And all of that got me thinking of the way we remember, and grieve, but also rejoice.  We focus on the beginning, or the end. We call them "occasions" but that's all they are. In the grand scheme of things, they are occasional. The lives of the people touched by those occasions go on, and we need to remember that, and them, on random summer days nearly six months removed from when 400 friends filled a room to say goodbye.

So if you're looking for a cheap thrill (sorry, Janis) of a random act of kindness, think of a moment of celebration from your recent past. A wedding, a funeral, just a happy reacquaintance with a long-absent friend. Fast forward to today now. Think of the ordinariness in their lives, or that of the ones they loved, that has settled in since that "occasion." Call them. Send some internet packets. Let them know you're still there for them now that the limos have departed and the band or the music tape stopped playing. Because your presence in their lives in these non-occasional moments may be even more important, and perhaps more appreciated.

You don't have to send a gift. You are the gift.

I'll be sending a link to this to Janice's husband and sons now.

Comments

[firynze.livejournal.com]

This is beautiful, and important. Thank you.