In Their Shoes

Hubby lost a dear friend this week. A lifelong friend. A high school classmate and college one, too. A generous soul. A kind, warm-hearted, incredibly gifted athlete, who always had a kind word and broad smile.

Almost always.

None of us is in position to judge his friend for his choices right down to the end. Some of his friends may have walked a part of the journey in his shoes, but not all of it. That's why it's hard to comprehend his demons and struggles, or understand how things ended.

And that he's gone.

There was visitation at the funeral home tonight and Jim will serve as a pallbearer at the funeral tomorrow.

The death of their first member of the class of '81 has prompted quite the reunion, albeit a sad one. The phones and texts and emails have been flying for the past week as old friends reconnect while dealing with the shock of the news and trying to cope – and guiltily asking themselves, "Is there something I could have done to help him?"

It is a such a sad situation.

We drove separately to the visitation so Jim could stay as late as he wanted to visit with his classmates and, despite the morbid circumstances, re-live some of the many, many good times they shared with their friend. I hope that helps in the healing process.

If nothing else, it is a reminder to us all that we can never assume that just because someone is afraid or reluctant to ask for help, they don't need it. Or assume that just because a person smiles doesn't mean they aren't experiencing pain underneath.

And reminds us not to judge, but to show more compassion. To everybody.

And to appreciate what we have. And who we have. And our positive circumstances.

And to replace our judgments with prayers. (Please and thanks!)