moi, je regret...

Today I attended the funeral of a wonderful man. A man who wooed my widowed grandmother some 15 years ago while dancing the night away with her and who kept dancing with her long, long after they married. A man who embraced her family of some 250+ and learned all the names and faces and greeted us each with a cheerful smile and a twinkle in his eye each and every time he saw us.

While the services were beautiful and I love to celebrate a life well lived, I still came away with regrets. This isn't the first time I've waited till it was too late to really get to know someone.

I knew Emerson well enough to recognize and appreciate his genuine kindness, his cheerful demeanor, his wonderful laugh and his friendly embrace. But I didn't know how he liked to collect antiques--not in the context of its monetary value--but because the items he collected were all associated with someone he knew, a memory he cherished or a story that needed not to be forgotten. I never knew he had left his family and fought for freedom in World War II--along with two of his brothers--and how he still couldn't speak about having to return home without his younger brother. I didn't know that he liked to shop for my grandmother and that he would often surprise her with beautiful suits and other clothes that were remarkably well chosen. I didn't even know what his life's profession had been before his retirement. I involved myself in other extended family where I felt the need was greater, but now I realize I've missed out spending time with someone special.

Here is what I do know: This 87-year-old man never missed a step when he danced with my grandmother. He never missed a step when he played one-on-one with her either. One of my favorite memories is of an e-mail I got from her one year while they were wintering in Mesquite. She recounted how they--both well into their 80s--had played one-on-one and how proud she was to have outscored him. (He is the only person I've ever known to have gotten away with telling her--kindly, of course--to be quiet so he could finish his story and it sounds as though she is one of the few to have gotten away with beating him at any sport.) This man loved to share the fruits of his labors in caring for a number of enormous cherry trees in his yard, which he faithfully had pruned and sprayed so he could give away the cherries to family and friends. Emerson was genuine, warm and caring. You never left his presence without feeling like you were something special.

This is likely the only man I've ever met who is capable of keeping up with my almost-ninety but entirely unstoppable grandmother.

Another favorite memory is of a couple of winters ago when Emerson and Pearl were on there way to hear a country music band they both really liked. The concert was at night and the weather was stormy and cold, so ice and snow were a hazard. Apparently the two of them slipped on the ice and they both fell right outside the venue at UVSC. Because their injuries--while minor--did require some medical attention, the people at UVSC wanted to whisk them off to the hospital to be cared for. Both refused any treatment for their injuries, however, until after the concert was over.

So, I do have regrets today. I regret forgetting that we don't have all the time in the world with the people we love. I regret not making more of an effort to visit this set of grandparents. I regret not ever telling Emerson how much I respect and appreciate and love him.

I also came away with some hopes. I hope I will be dancing and shooting hoops when I'm 87. I hope my next door neighbor--should she speak at my funeral--will say she doesn't remember hearing an unkind word from my lips. I hope I will always be cheerful and grateful--even when the world doesn't always dish me out a bowl full of cherries. I hope I can talk to God each day like a good friend and remember to end my conversation with, "Thanks for this good life."

Thanks, Emerson, for sharing your good life with me.