Frailty

Saturday mornings at JP's are busy with chatter, coffee spills, counting change, long lines, and moving through laughing crowds. The energy is alive and familiarity feels tangible. 80% of these weekenders of regular customers, ordering the same half-caff, skim, easy-on-the-syrup drinks they do every single Saturday. I look forward to this shift--and even prefer it--because of the bubbly people and the casualty that the weekend brings. (During the week, people order coffee because the need it to survive the big meeting or because they are running late for work. On the weekend, they slept in an extra hour and are there because they can go for the 20 oz. drink and take their time).

I remember first telling Josh of my favorite customers over a year ago. A warm, friendly dad brought his two children, a boy about 9 and a girl about 5 or 6 years old, in for breakfast. I used to think that he was letting Mom sleep in each week, but over time I eventually discovered this gentleman was a single father. The way he treated his children, I thought, is exactly what I hope to emulate as a parent. Spencer, the son, was the cutest boy I'd ever seen. I used to tell him that I wanted Jack to be just like him. He looked exactly like his dad. You could instantly tell they were buddies. And Emalee was the sweetest, most innocent child I'd ever been around. Her hair was always parted perfectly with a strategic bow or barette placed over the rubber bands of her pig tails. I found their trio so special, so inspiring. And I had so much respect for Rick, the hero of a dad who could melt any heart of stone. Being around him simply made me want to be a better person. I believe people are placed in our lives like this as messages from God; the connections of the human spirit are so deep and beautiful that words do not belong on them. I can't explain why I felt so drawn to this family, but every Saturday morning, I couldn't wait to see them put their coats on the black chairs of JP's.

At work this morning, as I'm opening the store and stocking the lids, I mention to a co-worker how thrilled I am that I would get to see my favorite customers. It had been three weeks, which was probably the longest it had been that I had seen them in over a year. She tells me the words that have haunted me all day: "Yeah, Bec. Rick died. He fell at his house." My response was so instaneous: "No. No. No. No." ...grabbing my throat because I'm losing air... "No way. You have to be thinking of someone else! Please!" She continues with more information about the incident, leaving me gasping for air and feeling like my entire reality is somehow crashing down around me.

I wasn't particularly close to this family. In fact, I wasn't close at all; I merely watched their interactions from a distance, absorbing their affection from afar. But, I was, in one instant, so deeply affected by grief I had nothing to do but run. I ran to the back room, pacing back and forth as the tears fell. I crouched down, as if that would help, holding my knees and rocking. I pictured Rick's face, the face that drew me in with kindness. I couldn't believe---can't believe---this wonderful man is gone.

The grief I'm experiencing is of course for Rick, for his amazing life as an ER nurse, for the thousands of lives I imagine he made better simply by being in them. But, my deepest concerns, the part that shakes my bones, is thinking about his children. It is baffling to me that God would allow such an incident to occur when all He had to do was simply break a fall. These children will never sit on their daddy's lap or come to JP's with him for Saturday breakfast and hot chocolate. It's unfair. It will never be fair. And I have to live on remembering that Spencer and Emalee will grow up, graduate college, get married...orphaned from their dad.

Maybe we all need to realize now and again not just how precious life is, but how fragile it is as well. Each of us walks up and down stairs, in and out of doors, around corners...that could change the course of our life or even threaten it, at any moment. To say that each moment is a gift is such a cliched understatement, I almost didn't want to mention it. But, it's a message that is so desperately worth mentioning and even more worth heeding.

I would give all I have in order for Spencer and Emalee to have their dad. Without even knowing him, I would cut off a limb to bring him back to his family, back where he belongs. But I am prayerful that as his children ache for their daddy, they find their Heavenly one instead. I am hopeful that they remember how special their dad was, and that they grow to connect with him even though he is Elsewhere. And I'm trying to be thankful for everything I have, none of which I deserve, and the frailty of the lives that are most precious to me.