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Costco, the Cemetery, and My Dad
My dad loves Costco. In fact, I think he loves it even more than I do. He is a man who needs very little, but he is also someone who never likes to be short of supplies. As evidence, we currently have five gallons of milk in our fridge. (“Just in case the other four gallons get consumed in under 24 hours!” I told my sister the other day. She laughed. “I love dad,” she said.) In any case, when I mentioned that I needed to go to Costco to get some things for a party, my dad immediately said that he wanted to come with me. “Just so you…
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I’m Not Getting a Dog
I was out on my morning run the other day and I saw a woman about my age walking her Golden Retriever. It was a beautiful dog, and the woman, dressed in casual walking shoes and an old t-shirt from a local university, looked content. She sported a large wedding ring and smiled at me as I ran by her. I waved. I don’t know this woman at all, but I know this – she looked happy. And she clearly loved that dog. It reminded me of a conversation I had with Shawn a few years prior. Claire’s recent blood test had shown that the allergy shots were working for…
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Ministry of Presence
My friend Kumar is a pastor. As part of his work, he runs a bereavement group, and we meet up sometimes to talk about loss and how to help people make meaning of their lives. One day, I was telling him about some of the things that people had done for me after Shawn died, and he said, “we call that the ministry of presence.” I liked that phrase, so I asked him to tell me more. He said the following, The basic idea is this – as a pastor, you can preach a good sermon, but in the end, did you go on the journey with your parishioners? You…
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So Close. And Yet So Far Away.
Right after Shawn died, I boxed up a number of his shirts, certain that I’d do something meaningful with them. I never did. Even after I cleaned out his side of the closet and added even more clothes to the box, I felt paralyzed about what to do. Then, out of nowhere, an old friend from high school contacted me to volunteer to make a quilt out of his old shirts. I took her up on it, shipped her the clothes and forgot about it. It took a few months, but early this fall, I got the final product. It literally took my breath away. There were his shirts, all…
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September 11, 2001
I was falling asleep at night when I got a call from a friend. “Turn on the TV,” he said. I couldn’t understand what I was seeing. I couldn’t understand what I was hearing, either, as the broadcast was in a language I didn’t yet know. But as the minutes turned into hours, as our friends gathered together to pull an all-nighter watching the one TV in our building with international news, as we sat in shock as the sun came up, all we knew was this: September 11, 2001 was going to change our lives forever. I had been in Japan for a month. About two weeks earlier, I’d…
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Grandpa Tom Returns
We counted down the days. Tommy, unable to understand the days of the week, would simply ask, “is it tomorrow?” every day. We cleaned the house and Claire made a cake. We were so excited, and when he finally walked in the door after a summer away, all three kids screamed at the same time: “GRANDPA TOM!!!” My dad was laughing. He was tan, a result of daily rounds of golf back in Oregon, and his white hair stuck out at the sides. He set down his bags and picked up each kid before giving me a hug. “We’re really glad you’re here,” I said, in the biggest understatement of…
There’s No Handbook for How to Do This
