What do you wear to a memorial service for a person you have not seen or talked to in 20 years...

This was the question I found myself asking as I stood in my closet on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. I was not sure what to wear as this is Washington state and we do not dress up or down for much of anything, even the memorial of a gone too soon old friend from Sultan High School class of 93. I feel like our humble class of 63 graduates has endured a few too many of these. At our 30-year reunion, we all stood around a table looking at the photos of young, smiling faces of classmates. It felt heavy.

Today felt the same.

I have not kept in touch with Kylie, only bumping into her and her Mom randomly at a vintage sale in Spokane about 20 years ago. She was not one of our group that attended reunions, she did not have social media (or if she did, I was not invited to that part of her life) I won’t sit here and pretend that we were close, we were not. This is what was running through my head as I looked outside, saw that it was positively gully-washing, and knew I had about a 2-hour drive in stop-and-go traffic ahead of me... why did I feel so compelled to attend?

I thought about how no parent should have to bury a child. I cannot think of anything more painful than that, zero. Nothing. I wanted to look at her folks and tell them exactly that. This always makes me think about fairness. I do not understand God’s ways, which in turn leads me to the book of Job. For many a comfort, but for me, a portion of scripture that I have wrestled with for most of my Christian life.

“There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil” Job 1:1 KJV

Give me John 3:16 all day long, but the book of Job can be a bitter pill if you let it sit too long on the back of your tongue. If a perfect and upright man, who feared God and eschewed evil, did not escape this world without troubles, what does that say for the rest of us?

It was a beautiful service hosted by her fellow teachers at the school she taught at for 28 years. Talk about a legacy. I was reminded how important each God-breathed life is. We have a responsibility to answer the call placed on our lives, and I pondered the analogy of a pebble that causes a ripple. 

It does not take a brand, a platform or a social media following, it takes the simple act of showing up for others, investing, loving, and doing what you can. It's much simpler than we make it out to be.

That night, I dreamt I had offered to host a funeral at my house, only to realize that I had accidentally slept through the entire thing. I looked outside and in my yard and saw hundreds of people. Some familiar, some not, celebrating a life. My first thought was how bad a hostess I was for inviting everyone and not feeding them (cue Amber’s worst fear). My second thought was how I had dishonored the deceased by not even showing up for them in death.

At 51, I am well past midlife. This does not bother me, rather, it feeds that already urgent feeling that compels me to live well. To say yes more than no, to love freely, to feed all the people and yes, get dressed and go to the funerals, showers, weddings, graduations and even just coffee. 

What I do to no applause, no platform and unto my Maker. 

To honor the dead by being fully alive.