Today I went to a funeral. It was an especially sad one, as the departed person was only 26 years old. Matt Thompson was the younger brother of Kristin, who my mom worked with for years at the pharmacy, and has a very close relationship with. Matt started working at the pharmacy as well, and my mom came to just adore him. She was always telling me what a sweetheart he was. He passed away in his sleep on July 7. Losing a young person is such a shock. I still can’t really believe he’s gone. His family was so strong today. I don’t think I would have done as well. Typically in this situation I would say that I have no idea what the family is going through, but today I had somewhat of an idea. That could have been me. It could have been us. I don’t know what I would do. How would I go on?

I was thinking…there aren’t many times in life that we are celebrated. When do people stand up and tell heartwarming stories about you? Your wedding, for one. Your funeral is the only other I could think of (unless you are famous or something). I was heartbroken for Matt that he never got to experience a toast made at a wedding in his honor. I was sad for myself that I didn’t know him better. What have I missed? He seemed so sweet and loving, and like he had a great relationship with his sisters. I was almost jealous when Kristin’s sister Erin said that they had long phone conversations and that he would leave her thirty minute-long voicemail messages. The relationship they shared sounded wonderful. It’s such a waste that he’s gone. It sounded like he’d really pulled his life together and was doing so well, having such a great year.

I don’t know that there is ever an answer as to why we lose loved ones. Matt’s family seemed to accept that it was his time. I’m not sure I could be so strong, have such faith. I envy it. I, myself, don’t understand the purpose of ending Matt’s short life. I don’t know why he was given to his family for such a short time.

I couldn’t help but think, also, of Matt as a little boy, a baby even, with his parents caring so much about him like I do my little Jacob. I kept thinking of the amount of time, worry, concern, and love that had gone into 26 years of parenting and mentoring this child, all with the end result that he has a nice life, and what did he get? He had just begun. I can’t imagine how hard that would be for a parent. Like his father said, my heart is broken, for them. I have them in my prayers, and I hope that they heal. It seems an insurmountable task, and yet, if anyone can, I feel it’s this family. They are so close and loving.

It was a beautiful service, the message was amazing, the music was incredible. Matt had cried through a performance of Coldplay’s “Fix You” at a Christmas service at his church, so they played it again, and I couldn’t help but cry as I thought of these words resonating with him:

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try…to fix you.

After all, aren’t we all just looking for someone, something to complete us? To know that we matter, that we are loved, whole, fixable and perfect? Perhaps this longing is part of the human condition and it is never quenched. I wish I had the answer. I remember the first time I heard this song, and it brought me to tears. It was a time in my life that all I wanted, so desperately, was to be “fixed” because I felt broken. Aren’t we all?

I hope that Matt is whole now. I grieve for his family to live without him. I am thankful for the existence of my own family. I am hopeful that we will use our time together to forge strong and meaningful relationships before it is too late.