I went to a memorial service the other day.
A sweet friend. Altogether too young.
I never saw enough of her. We’d exchange messages to get together. But then something would happen. And time would hasten by.
Life.
I was afraid to go to the memorial. Anxious.
I have avoided them since my son died.
Too hard for me.
We arrived early to a full church.
My friend from the library was at the door. In full vestments. And a cross. I’m not sure why.
We sat in the overflow hallway. Staring at a video several seconds removed from the announcing that was taking place on the altar.
I wondered who all these people were.
If I had a memorial, would anyone come?
But it couldn’t be in a church. I don’t go to church.
I never have. Well, I was baptized. And went to Sunday school a few times.
But that’s really it.
Without religion, what would I do for a memorial.
The pastor spoke.
He mentioned that my friend was the first to take him to lunch when he came to town.
Wow. I wouldn’t think of doing that. If I had a pastor.
And every year she donated a special holiday tree and raised money for families in need.
Which is so cool. So like her.
I mean to do things like that. I mean to.
But I don’t.
I donate money. But I don’t do any really big things that truly make a difference.
That take me a lot of time to do.
I’m going to be completely legacy-less.
I’m a nice person.
But is anyone going to come to my memorial because I’m nice?
I’m going to have to think about all this.
Work on my legacy.
