A day of grief and happy memories

It was just an ordinary day. I was rushing around getting people ready for school, trying to make sure we didn’t miss the bus, explaining the schedule for the day, while keeping half an eye on my phone in case the workday was starting early.

Then, all of a sudden, as my younger son was finishing his breakfast, I found myself with tears running down my cheeks. Grief can be so strange.

Six years ago today we lost my brother-in-law Eric unexpectedly. And, even though we always know this day is coming, his anniversary hits hard.

A lot of the grief is not mine specifically. It’s grief for my wonderful sister. It’s grief for her four magnificent children. It’s grief for Eric’s brother and sister-in-law and their children—our extended family. It’s grief for my children whose memories of their uncle aren’t as rich and deep as they could and should be. It’s grief for my husband, who used to have the best intellectual conversations with Eric, ranging from topic to topic.

On a day like today, the hole feels so large for someone who should be here.

As I headed out to start my day this morning, I was running through my meeting schedule in my head. I grabbed my things—or thought I did—and headed to the car. It was only after I had driven 20 minutes to work that I realized I had forgotten my laptop.

In almost 15 years of working there, I have never once forgotten my laptop. I sat in my car, looking at the time, trying to figure out whether I had time to get home before my first meeting. There was no way I could pull it off.

Then I thought of a friend in our technology services office. I sent her a message, and she replied immediately to say I could borrow a laptop for the day. Suddenly, my problem was completely solved.

As I logged onto my loaner laptop, I thought of Eric. And I remembered years ago when we arrived at our beach rental in Rehoboth and realized it didn’t have WiFi.

Our spouses thought that might be a lovely way to spend the week. Eric and I looked at each other, and I knew that was not what he was thinking. We weren’t staying anywhere for a week without WiFi. I grabbed my keys, and we headed to the car. We drove around until we found a store that sold a portable hotspot. Eric handed over his credit card, and we walked out feeling like kings.

I have so many memories of Eric. I remember his smile, his singing voice, his ability to talk about anything, and his pride in his children. He had the best sense of humor. From our first days knowing each other, he understood my sense of humor—and I understood his. He accepted my cheap shark-themed gifts over the years with apparent joy every day. He never complained when I told him my wedding gift to him was giving myself contact lenses. Come to think of it, neither did my sister.

Eric was someone who knew how to love—fully, completely, without judgment, and forever. He is so loved—and he is so missed.

Copyright © 2023 Catholic Review Media

 Print