Can you tell I've had three glasses of wine and decided that warping poem titles was a good way to start this post? Yes? Good.
Last week, a friend of mine lost his mother to cancer. She had been sick for a while, and her death was not unexpected (the double negative seems appropriate). This friend was one of the rare few - well, actually, only - who attended both my high school and my church. I believe I mentioned before that I went to school in a very small, rural town. I think I also mentioned that from the fourth grade until about sophomore year were filled with all of the evil, gossip-inspired hatred that lead ordinary school girls to seek "help" of the professional variety.
When I was in the seventh grade, my Grandma came to stay with me while my parents were on a trip, and she took me to church - alas, a locale I had not frequented in some time. While at Sunday school, I met a few kids who deigned to treat me like a human instead of the scourge of the earth. So I stuck around. And became fast friends with a handful. I joined choir and youth group and generally accepted every opportunity proffered to hang out with them.
Church was my out. It was my new social circle and the only thing that kept me sane over the next few years. And, admittedly, it wasn't because I was praying a ton or studying scripture. I was studying friendship and boys (okay, and a few more boys) and learning how the world operated outside the warped sphere of my school.
So when I heard, through one of my few high school friends, that my friend C's mom had passed, I was very sad. C had always been very kind to me. He was a few years older, very cute, and sweet as pie. He came from a wonderful family - just him and his folks, like me - and lived in the country on a farm. Since he fit my two main requisites for dating (1. older, 2. cute), we sorta-kinda dated for a while in high school. But he was way, way, way too nice. And it definitely felt like kissing a brother. If one had a brother - I can only imagine.
So that fell by the wayside, but the friendship never did. His parents hosted church and school events at their farm, including an annual Halloween hay ride, watermelon picnics, and the like. When his father died in a tractor accident when we were in high school, it was the first time I really experienced the death of someone from anything other than old age.
But C and his mother handled it with grace and courage and C went on to college, and work abroad, and all of the success and happiness he deserved. His mother went on working with the school district and was there when I spent one year teaching right out of college. Her never-fading smile and unending kind words never failed to make me smile.
So Friday, I attended her funeral in the same church where I was baptized, confirmed, and by the same pastor who married us. What I had not thought of, prior to my arrival, was that these two worlds - my church world and my school world - would be converging.
Which, as per my history, meant that two distinct groups of boys (now grown up, but c'mon, who're we kidding?) would be converging. A quick count in the parking lot revealed at least five former love interests who I knew would be there. Another three seconds yielded three or four more potentials. And I felt myself go shaky.
It was a bit like a "This is Your Life" episode - if I were conceited enough to make this about me, and not my friends mother. (Oh, wait... I've already done that, haven't I?) At every turn, there was a new face, familiar in some cases as the day I'd last seen it, and completely unrecognizable in others. There were not one, but two pastors' sons (not the plural pastors - that makes it okay, right?), a boy whose family was convinced I was from the wrong side of the tracks, one who hadn't hit puberty until after high school (when he grew no less than a foot in height and gained an entire new register in his voice) and so I'd only actually gone on one date with, and assorted others, including a few who'd declared their undying love without securing an actual date.
By the end of the service - which was wholly beautiful and fitting - I was wondering if there wouldn't be some wine at the reception afterward to make this parade of ex-boyfriends slightly more tolerable. There wasn't.
But the good news is that, sweaty, awkward, "Oh, God, did he see me?!" moments aside, it was a wonderful experience. As my best friend put it, "I think you ended up doing pretty well." And I have. I did. All of that awkwardness just confirmed that I ultimately got to the best there was. No questions.
But just a note for the future, God: I don't need to see them all to know that. 'Kay. Thanks. Oh, and also, give C's mom a hug for me.
