The arrangement conference had gone as well as could be expected, given the circumstances surrounding his life and death.  His family had fully anticipated this turn of events, so much so that his mother had even asked one of the directors what she should do if it happened since he was residing several states away.

Throughout the meeting, those making the arrangements had maintained their composure, sometimes laughing over the memories brought forth by the questions being asked, sometimes growing quiet as they reflected on their loss.  They were remarkably prepared with pictures for the video and items they wanted to display—things that harked back to simpler, happier days.  So many years before he had been a star athlete in high school, lettering several times in several sports, with the jacket and patches to prove it.  His mother was holding it up, showing it to the director and speaking, with a twinkle in her eyes and pride in her voice, of his accomplishments then and how “the boys” didn’t even know there was such a thing as a letterman’s jacket . . .

And then she stopped.  The twinkle faded as her hands gripped the jacket.  And she began to cry, pulling the jacket to her face, sobbing into the collar, clinging to something that spoke so eloquently of the child she had lost.

That one small thing—that one tangible reminder of a longed-for life—gently but quickly tore down the protective wall that had been carefully constructed, allowing the raw emotions generated by so great a loss to escape.  Although she regained her composure within just a few minutes, you could see a measure of relief.  The depth and pain of the loss had been acknowledged; the failure to maintain control had brought about a cleansing that does not come through any other means.

No matter your relationship to the person who has died, there will always be something that will always serve as a reminder of their life and their importance in yours.  Some people may choose to hide those objects away, because out of sight is out of mind.  In their way of thinking the happy memories that now carry the pain of loss will be less likely to surface.  But those objects can also offer comfort by reminding us of happier times and moments shared—by speaking clearly and eloquently of the person we loved.  Although the comfort they bring will initially be accompanied by the overwhelming pain of loss, over time comfort will prevail and the pain, although never completely banished, will fade into a gentle longing.  And you’ll be left with tangible memories you can see and hold, without fearing what else they might bring.

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