Faded

Tom had the best memorial service I'd ever been to.  It was held in a small downtown art gallery at night, and the room was full of candles and light.  Their glow was warm and sacred, but not in that creepy way that makes you squirm in your seat.  It was like a fairyland of sparkles, inviting you to come in.  Half of the room was set up with chairs, but the other  side of the room was filled with art pieces made by his friends, to remember him, express their love for him, and bathe us all in a breathtaking homage to who he was and how he affected the people around him.

I came to the event in a state of deep grief ... and almost uncontrollable rage.  I knew that I would see  some people who had made his life so miserable in his last years, and I wasn't sure I could control myself when I did.  

So I decided to take one of his paintings....the one of a person flying away from this world....and put it on a t-shirt to wear that night.  It felt like putting on armor, like holding him very close to my heart, and I needed it that night.  

My job was to greet people as they came in, and give them the memorial brochure. I never anticipated that over 250 people would show up, but I wasn't really surprised.  Tom could make friends with the check out lady at the market....anyone, really.  He put people at ease, make an instant connection, and ...almost always...make them laugh.  

In the days leading up to the memorial, I imagined seeing the villains in his life and how I would react to them.  In my mind, every single one of them would be 'so sorry for our loss' and would 'miss him so much'.  They would tell me how terrific and talented and fun he was.  Then wait for me to say something comforting and welcoming.

I dreamed of looking them directly in the eye, and watching them squirm.  There would be a delicious silence as I stared at them until they realized I knew exactly what hypocrites they were....how cruel they were to take away his joy.  His life.   (Yes, I still blame them).

Somehow, my better self prevailed.  I suppose Tom would have been disappointed in me if it hadn't.  They walked into the room, and the beautiful, painful, perfect memorial service...exactly the kind of thing Tom would have wanted and loved...began. 

So now, 12 years later, I look at the t-shirt I wore that night and the image is so faded I can barely see it. It is worn and stained and out of shape, but of course I still wear it and always will.  The nearly absent image made me think about how people tell you that your painful grief will also 'fade'.  You are told that over time the brittle suffering of the first years will mellow into a montage of wonderful memories of the person you love and miss.  No longer will anything and everything remind you of them, bringing you to tears.  Instead, you'll have peace and warm comforting images in your heart and mind.

It's true that grief transforms.  But I'm not sure that the intensity of pain in those shocking and usually surprising moments of remembering really diminishes.  For me, it's like burning your hand on the stove.....you rarely do it, but every single time it will sting and leave another scar.  

And I'm glad it does.  It means that he is still very real in my heart.  He is so important to me that he can't just waltz out of here and be forgotten.  I know he would much rather we all got on with our lives and were happy.  He told me that before he left.  

But I'm sorry, Tom.  That isn't going to happen.

I still have my t-shirt.