Speak now, because forever is a long time....

One year ago, I wished my cousin a happy birthday.  Two years older than me, but only one grade ahead in school, we grew up in the same small town and the same smaller church, which means we saw a lot of each other.  And it wasn't always fun.  But he was a part of my growing up, always there, ever present, solid and dependable.  Over time, I didn't even mind the nickname he called me, because I knew it was said out of affection, although he likely wouldn't have admitted it.  From the outside it probably didn't appear that we were close, but over the years we forged a weird, but important, relationship of love and support that meant a lot to each of us.

When I moved back to that same small town a couple of years ago, I leaned on him and he was there for me in a way that no one else was, and I am forever grateful.  The cousin relationships I have are deep and strong, and this one was no different.  But I don't think I realized just how important he was to me until he suddenly died a few months ago, and I was left without him in my world.

I am glad that I told him on more than one occasion how important he was to me.  I am even more glad that on one or two occasions I told him I loved him, which was awkward, but vital.  I am glad that I could be there for him at some moments in his life when he needed me, and I am glad that he was able to return that favor.  We laughed together, we cried together, we understood some deep life hurts that we experienced separately, but which were much the same.  In short, my cousin was part of the landscape of my life, and when he was gone, the landscape changed forever.

People are always saying that life is short, and we should maximize the moments.  We shouldn't let the sun go down on our anger, because you never know.  Don't let bitterness ruin a relationship because we don't know what tomorrow holds.  But when that reality slaps you in the face with an unexpected death of someone too young and too close, it is a shocking reminder that life is fragile.

Ultimately, my cousin did me one final favor in his early death.  He reminded me that I need to live for today, because we are not promised tomorrow.  Just as he was suddenly gone, so too could anyone I love be taken from me.  Tom's life and death have changed me in ways that are too personal to discuss in a public forum, but I am a better person today for having had him in my world for 50 years of difficult life.  I learned things from his life that I will carry forward until the day I join him in heaven, and I learned things from his death that I act on today and every day.  Perhaps that is the best eulogy I can give about someone I love - their presence in my life changed me for the better.

I am not sure I would have said happy birthday any differently a year ago if I had known it was the last time.  Tom wasn't one for over the top exuberance, unless it involved a fish.  I  hope his birthday this year involved a cabin on a heavenly lake, filled with endless fish, surrounded by all the people he loved joyfully celebrating his too short life and his infinite eternity with the God who loaned him to us so briefly.

Happy birthday, Tom.  I love and miss you.  My heart is still breaking because you are gone too soon and I wasn't ready.  But I will see you in heaven, and believe me, I have a few things on my mind to share when I get there, so be prepared.  You get the Mike's, I'll get the dinner, and it will be like old times.

Love, Zelda