Reunited

I had the great pleasure of returning to my hometown recently for a reunion of the church youth group I grew up in.  I was an awkward, gangly seventh grade girl when we started attending that church and over the next 6 years, my sister and I kept showing up every time the doors opened until I graduated from high school. It was home for me--complete with a family made up not only of my peers, but also a group of adult volunteers who would be a crucial part of 'the village' that raised this child. It's been almost 25 years since I left that safe place to start college.  I went back a few times over the years, but never for very long.  I got married young, at a few days shy of 21years old, and married life followed by kids meant I grew roots elsewhere and let the memories and most of the friendships I had formed there fade into the back of my mind and heart.  Not gone, but buried deep.  It was earlier this summer that one of the girls who had also been a part of the group put feelers out on Facebook to ask if anyone might be interested in a reunion.  I have to think that most people had mixed emotions about reuniting after 25 years.  I can speak from my own experience and say I felt a mixture of excitement, curiosity and nostalgia.  I loved those people and the idea of many of us being all together reminiscing, catching up and reconnecting in a more-than-Facebook kind of way was exciting.   I also felt a healthy dose of fear, anxiety and, at times (keeping it real here), just downright terror.  It's no secret that people want to look like they have somehow fought off gravity at reunions and I am no exception, but my most gripping anxiety stemmed from fear of having to share my story.  It's sad.  Really sad.  And I didn't want to be voted Most Likely To Bring The Entire Reunion Down With Her Sad Life Story (there actually weren't any elections held, but wouldn't that be an awful award to receive?)  I RSVPed anyway and made plans to travel back home with my sister and brother-in-law.  The closer the reunion got, the more anxious I got.  Days before, I was a basket case (in the privacy of my home or for my sister to witness).  I literally began hoping some kind of illness or homeowner's disaster would prevent me from going.  I even considered just not going and letting everyone fill in the blanks of why I canceled however they wanted to.  I got a good pep talk from a few of my closest confidants, reminding me basically that:  1. They would be supporting me and that  2. It was not all about me and that I was not unique in having experienced great pain and loss--after all, it HAD been 25 years-- so I put the whole thing in perspective and made the trip.  Once we walked through the door of the restaurant where the reunion was being held, I felt at ease and at home.  Inwardly, I was so relieved and so thankful to be over the hurdle of just getting there and I was thoroughly enjoying watching and being part of the multiple mini-reunions occurring all over that room.  The youth group was back together again and we all seemed to pick up right where we had left off.  A few people made reference to Dan's death when they greeted me and I appreciated them acknowledging him even if it might have felt uncomfortable or awkward.  Because the venue was reserved for 5 hours, it was possible to really relax and enjoy visiting and eating together.  There was also time to watch a slide show of pictures from way back when and laugh, remembering all the great trips we took together and how much fun we had.  Our youth minister, Mark, got up and was able to capture in words what our journey together so long ago meant to him.  It was a rare and wonderful opportunity for all of us to hear his heart and for us to have confirmed in our own hearts that all of those years were as important to him as they were to us.  It was pretty awesome.  We were now several hours into the evening and the fear had dissipated that I might crumble and cause some kind of scene by crying in public (which is, by the way, MY number one fear--for me, public speaking is cake compared to crying in public).  And just when I had completely let my guard down and thought I had made it through the night unscathed by a surprise grief attack, (insert ominous background music here)...IT happened.  I remember it in slow motion, like in the movies where something so bad is about to happen that it's played in slow-mo with someone always saying, 'NOOOOOO!!!,' while all eyes are on the trauma that is in the process of occurring. Mark wrapped up what he was saying and decided it was a good time to go around the room and have everyone tell what's going on in their lives right now. Gulp. He looked over to our table. Gulp.  He said 'Let's start with that table'.  Double gulp.  THEN he said...to ME....'Why don't YOU start?'.........PANIC! Are you kidding me?!? I am certain I either heard or said the slow-mo 'NOOOOOO!!!!' at this point.  I would love to tell you that I slowly stood up at this point and elegantly gave a moving synopsis of my most recent life events, concluded with an inspirational directive to seize the day, but that was not the case.  Not even close.  What I really did was awkwardly stand up on shaky legs, say 'I live in Fort Worth with my 4 kids' and then I lost it.  Horror of horrors, I started crying!  In public! (Disclaimer: I realize I have issues....I know what everyone would say to me at this point, 'It's ok to cry'--I realize it's OKAY, but I'd prefer not to do it in public.  I would even tell my kids it's okay, just not MY cup of tea). I quickly sat down and fumbled around the table trying to find one of those scratchy napkins to blot my eyes while at the same time, shrinking down to avoid the sympathetic eyes of others.  As much as I wanted to disappear right then, it didn't happen, so I sat there and regained composure ASAP.  Once my head stopped spinning, I saw a friend who had been sitting to my left earlier come back from the bathroom.  He had missed the entire slo-mo saga.  He was pretty puzzled and asked what had happened.  The conversation that ensued was the silver lining of that dark cloud of crying in public.  Because of my crying moment, I was able to start a conversation with this dear friend whom I knew had also suffered the loss of a spouse.  For him, the death had occurred several years earlier and he has been blessed with a loving wife, 2 kids and a new beginning.  I would never have started a conversation with him about our common losses, but I am so very grateful that an awkward moment for me turned into an opportunity to ask him some questions about life after life.  I don't regret crying.  There is only one thing I regret about the reunion and that is that I was not composed enough at that very scary moment to REALLY say what's going on in my life right now.  It might not have been moving or inspirational, but if I had the chance to say it without crying, here's what I might have said:  'I live in Fort Worth with my 4 kids.  They are my world. Although I will admit I am sometimes overwhelmed by the task of raising 4 kids alone, most of the time I embrace it and realize how truly blessed I am to have them.  Over 20 years ago, I met and married the love of my life and his name was Dan.  You guys would have loved him.  He was a great guy and an exceptional daddy and husband.  I miss him so much.  I wish he could have been here for this because he knew how important this group was in my life and how it kinda made me who I am today.   Knowing Dan, in his life and in his dying, also made me who I am today and although I wish he could come back to me, I like who I am today.  I believe that even back when we were kids in this group together, God knew the different parts of life He was preparing all of us for and I also believe he was using the precious experiences we had as a group way back then to prepare us for what we have encountered and what lies ahead, good or bad.  I consider it a privilege to be able to gather in a room with all of you and thank you for the parts you played in God preparing me for life.  This room feels a little like a 'great cloud of witnesses'.  I love you and wish you all the very best in life.  Don't be strangers.  If I don't see you again this side of heaven, we can catch up again there.'