Death is an interruption. I spend the last four days reviewing Uncle Tom. His life, his friends, and his stuff were all a part of the review process. I have never experienced death this way. In every death there is a sense of sameness, but also a sense of uniqueness.
Uncle Tom retired at 52, not because he had struck it rich, but because he was fed up with being produce manager at a Vineland, N.J. grocery store. He loved the Philadelphia Eagles and people. He married my Aunt Maryann when she was 39 years old. Uncle Tom was a people machine. From the UPS guy to the employees of Winn Dixie, they all knew and loved him.
Except for Aunt Maryann, we all will just dig back in now. We really don't have a choice. Back to the grind, the roles, the responsibilities, the appointments, etc. For a few of us, an occasional thought in the midst of a busy day about Uncle Tom, will flash in our brains. A Philadelphia Eagles sweat shirt or a leaf blower will remind me of him.
Where do I go from here? Someone will go through my stuff one day. They will see a few books, a Saint' T-shirt, Weight Watcher journals, and baseball cards. They will laugh and tell stories. Why did he keep this? He was always obsessing on these things. Then they will move on. Sobering? Challenging? All of the above. Death is a commercial for important things. Things that will last for ever. People and God's will are two of those things. Pardon me now, while I dig in. I needed the interruption.
Columbia today with the North American Mission Board partners. Big week. Busy Week. More tomorrow.
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