“Your wealth is where your friends are.” – Plautus

 

 

I remember the first time I read Tom Sawyer.

I was riveted by the scene where Tom & Huck hide in the balcony to watch their own funeral.

As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the graces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads that every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them always before, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor boys. The minister related many a touching incident in the lives of the departed, too, which illustrated their sweet, generous natures, and the people could easily see, now, how noble and beautiful those episodes were, and remembered with grief that at the time they occurred they had seemed rank rascalities, well deserving of the cowhide. The congregation became more and more moved, as the pathetic tale went on, till at last the whole company broke down and joined the weeping mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the preacher himself giving way to his feelings, and crying in the pulpit.

Like many children, I believed myself to be misunderstood and unappreciated by my family. I remember imagining my own demise and how sorry my family would be then. That’d show ’em.

Then, in my 30s, I read The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey and once again, was told to visualize my funeral so I could begin with the end in mind.

“In your mind’s eye, see yourself going to the funeral parlor, parking the car, and getting out.  As you walk inside the building you notice the flowers, the soft organ music.  You see faces of friends and family you pass along the way.  You feel the shared sorrow of losing, the joy of having known, that radiates from the hearts of the people there.

As you walk down to the front of the room and look inside the casket, you suddenly come face to face with yourself.  This is your funeral, three years from today.  All these people have come to honor you, to express feelings of love and appreciation for your life…Now think deeply.  What would you like each of these speakers to say about you and your life?  What kind of husband, wife, father, or mother would you like their words to reflect?  What kind of son or daughter or cousin?  What kind of friend?  What kind of working associate?  What character would you like them to have seen in you?  What contributions?  What achievements?”

With my early Tom Sawyer introduction to this concept, followed by a myriad of Mennonite funerals and then, with the Covey book, the message was clear:

Live your life in the way you want to be remembered. 

 

 

Given that I am about to turn sixty, you might be forgiven for thinking that this funeral theme is because I’m getting closer to that inevitable ending.

It’s possible that might be a little bit true. But that’s not all of it.

Instead, it is because last night was my regularly scheduled Zoom meeting with my bike trip friends. This July would have been our 32nd annual bike trip. Since all those trips were in the Before Times and we’re now living in the Pandemic Era, we won’t be able to pull it off this year. Instead,  we decided we could at least check in with weekly Zoom sessions.

I settled on our deck sofa with my laptop and watched as Zoom’s Hollywood Squares filled up with all those familiar faces. Every week, I find myself doing the same thing: for the first few minutes, I can’t stop grinning as each face pops into view.

 

 

There’s usually someone who needs to adjust their volume, or shoo the barking dog out of the room. Then someone will randomly hold up an old photo so we can all shriek at our poodle-like 80s hair-dos or that other 80s standby of electric pinks and florescent lime outfits.

Finally, we all settled down. Susan’s square lit up. She looked serious. “Colleen,” she said, “this entire session is about you. It’s your birthday and we’re here to honour you.”

And then, they all donned crazy hats, raised glasses of champagne and told me Kevin was standing by.  As directed, I knocked on the living room window and moments later, my prince appeared with a glass of champagne.  I think my eyes were already leaking.

And then, square-by-square, as each face was framed by a lighted border, those beautiful women took turns telling stories about me, about what they appreciated in me, about how they saw me…

With Zoom, as we all know, only one person can talk at a time. This meant, all I could do was listen.

I could not deflect, digress or generally avoid the severe discomfort I felt, as my friends, generously described how they saw me.

It was my long-ago Tom Sawyer fantasy come to life merged with Stephen Covey’s admonishment to live with the end in mind. As uncomfortable as it felt, I comforted myself with the thought that at least I didn’t have to fake my death or, worse, actually be dead, for these things to be said.

I merely had to sit, albeit in squirmy distress, as I tried to accept their generous words.  Tears made tiny salt splatters on the inside of my glasses as the stories continued.

There were so many kind compliments, so many generous words, and oh my God, so much shared history. It was beautiful and it was hard.

 

 

But I know too, that life will not always be about kind compliments. The future will not always be wonderful. I will still have those days where the ability to laugh will feel impossible. There will also be those days when my energy ebbs and I feel too tired to bother with anything, those grey-flannel days when everything feels pointless and I can’t muster the spirit required to take on much of anything at all.

But now, when those dark days come, I will have something new to hold onto.

I will have these jewel-like gifts to remind myself that my friends are there for me.

Like weighty gems tumbling from a velvet bag, their gleaming stories and descriptions will remind me of my worth.

I also know another secret…we often only see in others what is reflected in ourselves. So, when each of my them used words like generous, compassionate, funny or kind to describe me…they were also chronicling themselves and their own wisdom and beauty.

So those imaginary jewels don’t just represent me, they are also the embodiment of my precious friends.

And that is why, dear reader, I am one of the richest women you’ll ever meet.

Turns out sixty ain’t so bad at all.