I was in my early twenties. My roommates and I were asleep. It was pretty early.
My phone buzzes. A text. It’s a DeMolay mom. Well, this is strange. I guess somebody with the same name as my buddy Michael died in a motorcycle accident last night. Her text asks me if it could be our Michael. Of course not! Michael is a pretty common name. I look up the news article. Oh… he has the same last name. Well, that still doesn’t prove anything. Oh… his middle initial is the same.
He was dead. One of my absolute best friends was dead. Younger than me. I woke up my buddies, talked to my family, called his… Many homes were filled with tears that day.
Man… explaining that memory has never been easy.
I bring this up because I was reminiscing with a buddy today over lunch about the ups and downs of our memories of our teenage years… Michael was there for most of them. So, he’s been on my mind this afternoon. But that’s not the only reason. I’ve actually learned a ton over the course of the grieving process for Michael. So, I intend to do a stroll down memory lane and note some of the lessons I learned.
I actually just recently posted about memories. A buddy asked me why I didn’t include any concerning Michael’s passing. The reason is actually pretty simple. That was a post about my lack of memory on past events. I remember everything about the passing of Michael. I can still see every room. I can still see the tears. I can see my own person struggle.
So, let’s continue the story and see what sort of lessons we can learn.
I couldn’t believe it. I could not believe it. He was actually dead. It’s the only time in my life where I can remember Steven and I both in tears, yet not talking. The day was so weird…
Facebook posts upon Facebook posts. Everybody was creating a tribute for Michael. I’ve never liked that, no offense to anybody that wrote one. I always felt like we needed a day to let the family just have each other before the entire world chimes in on the passing. But I can also see how bunches of people speaking fondly of a loved one might be a joyous thing.
I spent the day at home. No school for me. (I was in college.) I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t play a video game. Doing something fun felt wrong. And I didn’t want to. We just sat. We talked about Michael. Wait. I lied. I did do one thing. I called everyone. I spent hours on the phone that day. I gave the news. I gave funeral information. I heard everyone cry. They deserved to hear my voice as I told them, perhaps another reason why I didn’t like Facebook. I gave all that I had that day, even when there wasn’t much to begin with.
I finally did write a tribute to Michael on social media. There weren’t really words, though. I felt so incredibly guilty. I thought for sure that his family would hate me. You see, Michael died in a motorcycle accident and my family is the one who introduced him to motorcycles. I hadn’t ultimately joined Michael in the craze, but I was there for the beginning. I my mind, he was dead because of me. And I thought for sure that his family would see it the same way.
The days planning for Michael’s funeral were hard. I worked on the DeMolay and Masonic side of things to make sure that Michael had an appropriate service. Others worked hard as well, but I distinctly remember having a ton of responsibilities. That’s always been my reaction to the passing of a loved one. I worked with his family on the flowers and other arrangements. For the first time ever, Michael’s mom (a very traditionally Chinese woman) gave me a hug. She didn’t hate me. They never once blamed me.
The funeral came very quickly. There were hundreds of people there. The funeral home literally couldn’t fit us. I was there from the very beginning, walking with Michael’s mom. I bought a gallon of chocolate milk. I constantly came back to the gallon when I felt the tears start to come. People were crying left and right. I particularly remember our buddy Victor. “Why? Why?” The words were constantly uttered through the tears.
My friends were with me constantly, even as I tried to be there for others. Many recognized that I was hurting intently, even as I struggled to keep busy helping others. Steven and Dale were especially helpful.
The funeral never felt long. Even though we had hours upon hours of visitation time, they felt like a fleeting moment as more and more people that we knew flooded the halls. When we got to the actual service, you could hear a pin drop. We had a Masonic service followed by a words from me, Nick, and Dale.
The Masonic service was strange. Masonic services are filled with the idea of the brevity of life. Those words ring different when you’re at the funeral of a twenty-three year old rather than the funeral of an eighty-five year old. Michael’s body was strange. His face was puffy. He was always the skinniest guy in the room, so this felt odd. But seeing his body hurt. I couldn’t breathe.
The DeMolay portion was filled with inspiring words from the three of us. We spoke of Michael’s lasting impact… his heart. We knelt and prayed like DeMolays, even the older brothers.
It would be at this point where I would note that my responsibilities were over. Typically, that’s when the actual emotional crash would happen. But they weren’t quite there. I was there the next day with Michael’s family so that they could get the flowers. They gave me some.
The next days were the worst. I visited the family a lot. They gave me most of his things. I had to go through Michael’s games and clothes. I was out of responsibilities. All I could do was grieve.
Still, there were many notes of light. Many relationships were repaired with Michael’s passing. In particular, Nick and I, who had previously been on terrible terms, began a new friendship that has been a tremendous blessing. Steve and I reconnected on terms that ultimately led to mutual respect. Somebody passing will make you re-evaluate things, huh?
But I was far from okay. You see, in the past Michael was a bit of a stinker. We fought a lot amidst our friendship. And when I couldn’t/wouldn’t see Michael enough, he’d get really upset with me. And I hadn’t seen Michael for quite awhile before his passing.
Every night… and I do mean every single night, I’d have a dream about Michael. I’d go and find out that Michael was alive. I’d apologize to him for not being there for him… and he wouldn’t accept my apology. He’d show me just how mad he was for me abandoning him. This persisted for months. And it hurt because, in a way, I knew that’s how Michael would feel if he was alive. I had failed him.
Time back at school was hard. I did my schoolwork well, but I carried the baggage of a friend dying. Everyone knew. And I couldn’t be in a good mood. I felt guilty every time I did. My grades didn’t suffer, but I wasn’t really making any friends at that time. The exception came from the professors. The professors at my Christian University flocked around me, even as I was distant. They gave me love that I genuinely needed.
Church was so great for me. I dove in deep. It was nice to have hope. I became firmly cemented as a five-point Calvinist. I had to trust in God’s sovereignty at this time, otherwise the guilt would have been too hard to bear. Michael’s faith was iffy at best. Who knows where he landed spiritually at his passing, but I had good reason to think that he wasn’t a Christian. Perhaps that was why the funeral was so sad. There was no hope for the future. There was only celebration of memories… and those will ultimately fade. But the glory of Christ will last forever. I clung to that hope all the more tightly.
My pastor met with me weekly, gave me reading materials, and carried my family through the time of grief. At the time, he was the only person that I told about the recurring nightmares. Yeah, I called them nightmares. They affected me that much.
As the weeks went by, I was finally able to speak of Michael’s passing without losing it. Once I did, I realized that it was powerful. Knowing grief does great for helping others through grief. Seeing God’s faithfulness through your own grief could encourage others that God would see them through. Knowing that no day is guaranteed, that I could die tomorrow rather than sixty years from now, is a great way to encourage proper prioritizing, especially on your life with Christ. I didn’t want to have a doubt about any of those who walked through my ministry.
And I guess that’s where the lessons part of this blog comes in to play. I learned so much from this experience. I could walk others through grief, which was perfect for when my wife went through a similar experience. I learned that a day isn’t guaranteed. I learned perspective. Nothing quite heals friendships like a passing. I learned the difference between the hope that we have in Christ at the passing of a loved one and the despair that comes from the fangs of death reaching the life of those who don’t know Christ.
There are many more lessons that I learned, but the perspective thing really hits it on the head. I dove even deeper into my relationship with Christ. I trusted that even that was a work of God’s sovereign plan; that he would use all things for good, even Michael’s passing. I valued others more.
Well, I guess I’ve gone and babbled too much. But, hey, that’s the point of this blog, right? “Sometimes you’ve just got to babble”, right?
If you find yourself in a moment of grief, remember that all of our experiences our different, but God’s shoulders can bear the weight of every pain that you feel. And if you don’t find yourself wallowing in sorrow, don’t think less of yourself for it. When my wife faced passing, I constantly told her entire family, “It’s alright to be alright.” Remember that. Have fun. But don’t cling to sentiment. For example, saying that Michael would have wanted me to be happy would have likely been correct… but it’s insufficient. Christ being the ultimate source of joy never falls short. He is the mighty comforter.
In other words, look to the words of God through Paul-
“ All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.”
2 Corinthians 1:3-4
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