Two nights ago I got a work email… My phone buzzed sometime around 7pm. I can’t remember exactly what I was doing at the time, but I decided to read it. It said that the husband of colleague who works at another agency has gotten COVID despite being vaccinated and that he has spent the last two weeks on a ventilator and is losing ground. I had already been feeling sentimental for a few days and this was just another reminder that life is short, pay attention to the people who are around you. Later that night, trying to figure out what to write, I decided to tell people that they are not forgotten. I hadn’t really connected the two things until later the next morning. I don’t know this man in the hospital, and I really don’t know his wife, the colleague, very well. She strikes me as fairly stoic. Despite not knowing them, I tried to imagine what she must be going through and how I would handle that type of adversity. I don’t think I’d do very well with it.
Writing to say you’re not forgotten was a half-step measure. The full step would have been to call, text, or email. But when it comes to relationship maintenance, I admit, I can be a half-step kinda guy. I’ll think a lot about people and then assume that I’m some weirdo who spends all this time thinking about other people and how they’re doing. Which is just a poor excuse for not having the courage to be more direct. I assume that most people are too busy with their current lives to spend much time reflecting on the past (which is a thinly-veiled attempt to cover up a type of self-pity). That’s when I tend to get pretty honest with myself. If I say I’m thinking of people, it’s probably born from some insecure need to hear or believe that people are thinking of me. If I urge people to pay attention to the people around them in the here and now, it’s probably because I haven’t always been good with that… or because my day-to-day circle is almost non-existent. If I tell people they are not forgotten, it’s probably because I also don’t want to be forgotten. It’s as if I’m trying to admit to myself that for a few years I’ve been living in this “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone” space…. and not because anyone has died, but because one or both of us stopped working at it. Which, when compared to a forced loss like death, not working at it seems lazy and dumb.
And so, in the stillness of that empty present moment after hearing the news of someone’s impending loss, I spent my time reflecting on how many different people come and go from our lives and the varying depths of those intersections. Former co-workers, friends from elementary through high school, family members, exes. For many of those relationships, the distances that exist evolved naturally. For others, it was a bit more forced. For me, that type of reflection is often bittersweet. The bitter part is when I first think, “it didn’t/doesn’t have to be that way.” Then I swing over to thinking, “maybe that’s exactly how it had/has to be” which allows me to settle on “and none of this is permanent… there will be lots of other people if I’m open, some old, some new with lots of ebbs and flows.” The sweet part is the lightness and peace I eventually feel. I am extremely thankful to be able to say that there aren’t many grudges or ill-feelings weighing me down. I may have laments, but I hold very little resentment. Not too long ago, I read a quote from Twain that said “never regret anything that made you smile.” In that reflective space a few nights ago, I spent time thinking about all the different ways people have made me smile.