Henry Writes of Loss
As we age it seems the impact of losing friends hits like a sledgehammer. At least this is the reality
I face. Having lost three friends in the last few weeks led me to emotional lows I have rarely visited. Incredibly joyous memories of these friends and of their disappearance from this world take me on a roller coaster ride of thought, vision, and faith.
One is a friend from birth with whom I shared experiences growing up, in school and through adult life. His view of the world was very different from mine and 
served as a check on any attempt by me not to see how the world can differ for the individual. We shared joys and disappointments without judgment. He had the best memory of any of our friends and could remind us all of those moments shared at seven or nine or twelve. He seemed to remember everything about our years as kids. It was natural that when I shared a memory of our childhood he was not surprised because he too remembered the moment.
served as a check on any attempt by me not to see how the world can differ for the individual. We shared joys and disappointments without judgment. He had the best memory of any of our friends and could remind us all of those moments shared at seven or nine or twelve. He seemed to remember everything about our years as kids. It was natural that when I shared a memory of our childhood he was not surprised because he too remembered the moment.
The second was a neighborhood friend. We were separated by three houses and although he was a year older, I remember much about our days as 
kids. He was the self-proclaimed “concrete contractor” who construct-ed small roads between our neighborhood houses on which we rolled toy cars and trucks. We also made bows and arrows with arrows that disappeared into sky before falling back to earth. There were the nightly runs around the block and the daily baseball, football, and basketball games. He managed difficult health problems as an adult and left suddenly.
kids. He was the self-proclaimed “concrete contractor” who construct-ed small roads between our neighborhood houses on which we rolled toy cars and trucks. We also made bows and arrows with arrows that disappeared into sky before falling back to earth. There were the nightly runs around the block and the daily baseball, football, and basketball games. He managed difficult health problems as an adult and left suddenly.
The third was a colleague on the bench and one of the most fun-filled people I've ever met. We shared stories of our very different lives and after we both retired kept in touch. He loved Mexican food and we almost always communicated on Cinco de Mayo.
Each of these friends contributed immeasurably to the quality of life I have been privileged to enjoy and thus the loss is greater.
Although my spiritual universe provides a kind of comfort, my mind searches for more explicit explanation and I move in and out of competing visions. Loss, or being without, describes a condition and feelings so it brings much of our complex existence to the front of our consciousness. When we are no longer able to relate to the physical incarnation of our friends this feeling of absence, for me, is unavoidable. But loss seems to be much more than this absence. At the zenith of this struggle my faith collides with doubt.
I do believe that these friends remain with me because I carry memories of them in an almost tangible sense. They are with me and those memories give me solace.
I find it difficult not to ask whether friends will carry memories of me.
Ecclesiastes 3:1 reads, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:” Perhaps these times are not as separate as we envision. This, now, may be a time to remember, grieve and celebrate. We can embrace our losses and celebrate memories and joys of present relationships. I don’t believe we lose the past by celebrating the present. After all, these moments are precious.
