a [living] eulogy

I'm fully aware that dead men can't talk.

But if they could, here's what I wish they'd say.

I'm sorry. 

I'm sorry that silence was easier than giving voice to truth.

I'm sorry running was easier than staying.

I'm sorry that pride was more important than love.

Dead men cannot talk. They can no longer communicate with us. They cannot make amends.

But the rest of us can.

I would like to encourage everyone in this room today to leave recognizing what unresolved issues look like.

It looks like resentment. It looks like unmet needs.

It looks like pain.

The most ironic part about death is that such a beautiful, eternal rest can leave so much unrest behind.

As we all leave here today in various states of mourning, I would like to share what I believe the beauty of life really is.

Life is a journey endlessly shared between those we know and strangers we'll never meet and we're all doing the same thing-- we're trying.

We are all trying to move forward in the best way we know how.

As you journey forward, try not to hold too much against one another. And in that same breath, try not to hold too much from one another.

The beauty of life is our vulnerability.

The ability to earnestly share the difficult things we experience in life makes it easier for us to genuinely understand each other and extend grace to one another.

It allows us to teach, to learn, to share, to grow, to connect, to love.

It allows us to forgive.

We'll all get our chance to rest eternally.

What matters most is the work we do here with one another before we go.

Know that if you are still here, you still have time. It's only truly too late when you're time is up.