There are always a few thoughts that cross my mind when someone passes away:

- How are their loved ones?

- What were their best memories and biggest regrets?

- What is the legacy that they leave behind?

We found out about a month ago that my Uncle Jack had passed away. His two sisters (my mom & Aunt Alex) happened to be together to share the burden of receiving the telephone call carrying that news. Uncle Jack lived across the country for most of my life, so I only got to meet him a handful of times. Although it was tough to hear he had died, it didn’t impact me the same as some of those closest to him. When I have lost others, the grief felt like a tsunami, a wave of emotions unexpectedly crashing into life as you know it and tossing everything around. As the wave pulls you inward, it leaves a shadow in its wake, a thunderstorm cloud hanging heavy in the air. There is an intense feeling of homesickness, but an inability to find the home you once knew. There is loneliness, uncertainty, and fear. These are the times we need to reach outward and join hands; to create a makeshift lifeboat to support each other. Instead of weathering the storm alone, connection to others, community support, and faith help to put our lives back together.

Jack lived in North Dakota with his dog Rowdy and a couple of friends, but no close family nearby. Rising above scars from strained relationships & sub-zero temperatures, my mom & my cousin Shannon (Jack’s only son), boarded an airplane and flew out to pack up what was left of Jack’s life.

My mom & Shannon arrived shortly before midnight to a landscape frozen in time. Airplane wheels touched down with a jarring vibration as they resistantly met black pavement. My mom & Shannon spent the night at the home of Jack’s friends and woke to muted gray skies, expansive snow-packed flat lands and just a sliver of orange sunrise separating the two. The calm stillness in the air was in contrast to the unrelenting cold shock of reality that lay ahead of them.

Uncertain of what they would find, my mom & Shannon paused as they grasped the front door knob at Jack’s apartment. One day you are far away and though family is in your thoughts, they are not at the forefront; the next you are standing in front of a door, suddenly facing an overwhelming task. My mom & Shannon sorted through Uncle Jack’s belonging, bringing Aunt Alex into the experience through FaceTime and, sharing stories and a few tears with his friends. After the trip, they told me that as they looked through old photo albums and belongings, they learned things about Jack that they had never known. They sorted through and put aside sentimental items, deciding who would most appreciate them. They each fit pieces of Jack’s life into their own luggage to bring back home. As they closed the door, the click of the lock turning made the uncertain become certain – the sense of finality tangible. A closed door, the ending of a chapter, or maybe a mile marker – there was a clear line drawn in the sands of time, but the memories will continue on.

In a way, I see a person passing away like the way I’ve seen the wind rush over a dandelion, disturbing the fragile seeds. As the seeds separate from the flower, they travel outward, plant new roots and grow into the essence of something new. I’d like to think that those pieces of Uncle Jack’s life that now have new homes grow into the fabric of our families and memories.

When I heard that they had decided against doing a service in North Dakota, I reached out to Shannon to ask if he would like to hold a memorial at my house. We planned a small get-together for the end of February. As seems to be the story too often, I have only spent time with Shannon a handful of times in my life, either due to the physical distance between us or how quickly it seems time always passes us by. Shannon had come and stayed at my home about a year ago for the first time in probably a decade. He was able to stay for an entire week, which is the longest stretch of time we have ever spent together. We enjoyed sharing our passion for music and found many other similarities in our personalities and life experiences. We stayed up late many of the nights sitting by my fire pit enjoying each others’ company. I was so grateful that we had finally made the time and followed through on a plan to meet up. So, I was looking forward to seeing him again, especially as I would also get to meet his wife and daughter.

Shannon and his family arrived on another bitterly cold day, as it seems the cold likes to descend on these types of events. After introducing his wife & daughter Olivia, we all sat down in my living room until other family started arriving. His wife and Olivia fit into our family so easily, it was like they had been part of it all along. My mom, sister, Brian, Aunt Alex, & Uncle George showed up in a sort of ongoing progression and added new parts to the symphony of conversation.

My Aunt Alex brought an over-stuffed envelope of old photographs, edges worn & sun-bleached, some with fading handwritten inscriptions on the back. We sat in a circle around my coffee table, passing the photos from person to person. Some of my favorite parts of that day were listening as my mom & Aunt Alex told stories inspired by those photos, debating over whose memory was more accurate. The rest of us found pieces of connection to stories of our own that we also shared. Similar to my love of family antiques, I also treasure photographs. It’s amazing how many stories, memories, and emotions can fit within a 4x6 thin piece of paper.

These stories revealed the common threads that run through my family history. There is a clear love of nature and animals, music, and the desire to help others. If you look backward, I bet you can find pieces of yourself in your family history too. I see my creativity, gentleness, and helpful nature in my mom. And, I see my ability to find calm and steady in the storms of life and my enjoyment of working with my hands in my dad. I see my love of storytelling & of keeping memories in my Aunt Alex.

As a tribute to my Uncle Jack’s love of pizza, we shared several pepperoni and cheese slices in between the storytelling. If half of us weren’t minors, I am sure we would have added a couple of shots of whiskey too. My cousin Shannon had set his dad’s military flag, folded in the traditional triangular pattern, army medals & pins, and a photo in a velvet-lined wooden box. It is said that the flags are folded with such precision and care as each fold represents one of the thirteen original colonies. Each fold also has a symbolic meaning, some of which include our belief in eternal life and a reminder to turn to God in times of peace and war, honor & remembrance of those who serve, and several that are tributes: to our country, to all who provide protection through their services, and the mothers and fathers who mold the character of those who serve and who offer their children to support the defense of our country. Shannon did a beautiful job setting these pieces within their final resting place, sealing his fathers’ memory and honor in a sort of time capsule within the folds of the flag. In this way, those pieces of his father are honored and preserved, and his legacy is passed down to future generations.

One of my other favorite memories from the memorial was listening as Shannon shared a personal tribute he had written for his dad. He spoke of lessons his dad had taught him, favorite memories, and of the traits he believes his father passed down to him. His closing words were “I didn’t know it then, but you gave me all you had.” – I found that line to be so powerful. I think sometimes it takes events like these to unlock our ability to see things from that perspective, to extend that level of grace. Shannon and his dad did not have an easy life. There is a mountain of reasons I can think of that Shannon could have for feeling disconnected, disappointed, and even angry with his dad. But, as we grow older and as significant events like these alter the fabric of who we are, we shed old conceptions, making room for new roots to grow.

We took the photos shared below as the finale to the memorial and I will treasure these, as precious time was spent together, and new memories were made. Shannon and his family, as well as myself, Jenny, and the kids spent that night together. We had so much fun talking, laughing, and singing/attempting to dance to 90’s music. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time and was surprised at how well I remembered the lyrics to both the Spice Girls and Pearl Jam. As the night grew later, we all took turns saying “I swear this is the last one and then I am going to bed,” but then another of our “favorites” would come on…and so the night continued on into the early morning. There was lightness and warmth in the air that felt relaxed and free-flowing. Everyone left the next afternoon and I have been trying to put my thoughts into words since then.

I’ll close this by saying that when someone passes, it always feels like a loss, and it most certainly is. But, I think that sometimes we gain more than we realize in return. It brings us together and we are able to support each other and be supported. We rekindle lost connections and realize how fleeting life really is. We make time for what is most important, and we find the courage to do hard things or things we were previously too scared to do. Through the sharing and sorting of memories, we can sometimes see things from a new perspective, and find grace to give that we didn’t know we had. And, it often gives us deeper insight into ourselves and those threads that run through us all. Threads that have been woven together into unique patterns over centuries. Pieces of each of our ancestors and pieces of each of us remaining after we pass.

Death is like a dandelion, a combination of both delicate flowers & resilient determination.

Though seen on the surface as an undesirable weed to be eradicated, dandelions have been used for centuries to remove toxins from and enrich the body with essential nutrients. Dandelions play their part in a well-coordinated dance with the universe. They rise joyfully, like the sun, spreading warmth as their soft yellow petals peek over a horizon of cool blades of grass. They close their flowers as the light fades from the sky, transforming into translucent moon puffs. As if born knowing their eventual purpose, their seeds are shaped like lion’s teeth and they carry parachute extensions to support their future flights. When the wind whispers that it is time to let go, they release their seeds without protest. The seed pioneers float upwards, threading their light through the darkness, like a blanket full of stars. Death is a similar experience - The person as a whole ceases to exist, but their belongings, memories, and legacy continue on as seeds, traveling outward in search of new homes. These seeds take root in new locations, removing toxins and enriching their surroundings. They initiate a revolving cycle- the yellow sunrise of new life stepped into the legacy of their predecessors. They thread themselves into the fabric of future generations, resiliently supporting and carrying the messages that have been so carefully sealed within the essence of the hearts they’ve grown into.