Suppose, for just a second, you could spend Memorial Day with someone you’ve lost. You’d get one more day. You’d get one more chance to look in their eyes. One more chance to hear their voice. One more chance to feel their hand holding yours.
Wouldn’t that be the miracles of all miracles?
Imagine the things you would say, without the slightest hesitation.
“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed seeing you walk in the front door. I’ve missed your silly little jokes, and the stories you told me a million times. I miss knowing that at the end of a tough day, I can look into your eyes and see that twinkle that tells me how much you value me, and suddenly my day doesn’t seem all that bad.”
“You’re special to me. I’m better, stronger and smarter because of you.”
“I know now I never fully appreciated what it meant to have you here, although I thought I did. I’m ashamed to say I almost took you for granted. I love you.”
The act of speaking to them, by itself, would be such an incredible and eye-opening experience, for it would give us a second chance to say the things that may have been left unsaid before they died.
It would also make us look around at the people who are still alive and remember just what they mean to us, and tell them so. Life is nothing if it’s not a collection of wonderful people to share it with.
Pick up the phone. Write a letter. Make that lunch date you’ve been putting off for too long. By having one more day with a lost loved one, you won’t ever let another relationship go unappreciated.
Imagine the things you would hear, too.
Some comments would be like small talk. “You’re looking great. The kids are growing up beautifully. You were always a source of great pride, and still are.”
It will be good to hear those loving words again. But there will be something else you’d like to know.
“What’s it like?” you’d ask.
“You mean where I live now?” They would get a wry smile on their face.
“Yeah. You look so peaceful, like you enjoy yourself and have absolutely nothing to worry about.” And then they would offer you some very comforting words.
“It’s true. You can’t imagine it. The minute I arrived, I was surrounded by all these people I used to know. I felt a level of love I’d never felt before. I was immediately at peace about everything – my past, your future. So I don’t worry about anything. I wish I could have realized that when I was here with you. I could have enjoyed our days together more, in the way some churches encourage us to live.”
Perhaps this would be a shocking statement. “You mean it’s all true? You were never a religious person.”
“The world did not evolve from nothing. As smart as you are, leave room for the reality that there are some things you can’t understand. We’ll let it at that.”
“Are you going back there?”
“Oh yes. And I look forward to doing so. Heaven is not just a bunch of puffy clouds with people playing the harp all day. You can’t believe the things we do and the joy we have.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Words cannot describe it. I can’t wait to show you around one day. Now let’s go have dinner, shall we? I hear there’s this new place across from ‘The K.’ Heather’s, right? You know, I met her grandmother and she was telling me the other day…”
It would be one more day. But not just any other day. A special day. A glorious day.
Until you meet again.