“Whats up, man? Anything new?” my buddy Shawn texted me a year ago this week.
“I’m hanging in there. How about you?”
“Ehh. Bout the same.”
“Let’s do coffee or dinner or lunch soon.”
“Yes. If nothing is going on after dinner time tonight, maybe even then? Or another night. I haven’t checked with M (his girlfriend). She likes to eat about 6:00. Maybe do coffee and sit out back on our patio tonight at 7ish?”
“Tonight sounds great. Let me know if it works.”
It ended up working. And we spent what felt like a random Monday evening sitting around his firepit in his backyard. We listened to music from the 1980s and talked extensively about the groups that we listened to that night.
Shawn and I are quite different people. He’s outgoing and can talk to anybody. Me, not so much. He doesn’t read. I’m an avid reader. He’s a great cook. I can burn hotdogs.
But we also have a lot in common.
We grew up in the same neighborhood, shooting hoops, playing baseball and football, and sitting around in his room and listening to music. As the years rolled by, we got closer, mostly because we both loved to go deep in conversation. And I always found that so satisfying.
At the end of that random Monday night a year ago, I stopped at the gate leading out of his backyard to his driveway. “We should be more intentional about doing things like this. It seems ridiculous to let a week go by without talking or hanging out.”
I don’t know why I said that. I just felt it, so I spoke what I felt.
Shawn agreed.
It’s not like we didn’t stay in touch. We talked once a week or so, sometimes more often. But once in a while, we’d get busy and let more time slip by.
On that night, something told me … that change was coming. I had voiced that to Shawn earlier that evening. Change was coming for one or both of us. And we needed to support each other.
I’ve had a number of health issues in recent years, so I thought my feeling might have to do with my health. But for some time, medical professionals had told Shawn he was a ticking timebomb. He had a rare disease that made him a high stroke risk. He’d gone to the doctor a month or so before but the doctor told Shawn there wasn’t much he could do. The surgical risk was too high.
That random Monday night turned out to be the final time we ever spent around his firepit. We did meet for lunch with another friend eight days later, but Shawn died of a massive stroke two weeks to the day that I had the feeling that something was about to change.
His loss is still gut-wrenching to think about. It’s changed me in several ways.
If a friend calls or texts and wants to spend time together, it’s my highest priority. If I can go, I do. It’s made me want to dig even deeper with friends. I want to know what’s on their hearts. And losing Shawn has heightened my awareness that life is but a mist, as the Scripture says. We are here one minute and gone the next.
Do not wait to say what needs to be said. Do not wait to take the road trip with a friend. Do not wait to reach out to others, and do not stop reaching out because if you are able to facilitate a get-together, you never know when it might be the last time.
