Minutes to Memories

The drama of last Labor Day was ridiculous. This one couldn’t help but be less dramatic, but it still had plenty enough for me.

Miranda called this morning with the horrible news that they could not wake up her mother. As we spoke, emergency personnel arrived at their house to take Mrs, Karen to our local hospital. Mrs. Karen is one of the kindest, most encouraging people you would ever want to meet, but in spite of her big heart, by mid-afternoon the doctors knew that there had been heart failure in some fashion. She had coded at one point, and things did not look good. I ended up in the MICU waiting room with family members and church friends this afternoon. The room was aptly named, for all we can do now is wait. She is still unresponsive. One of my church elders is a doctor, and he said the next seventy-two hours are critical. So tonight we are waiting. And praying. And concerned.

Then Laura and her husband came to stay a couple of days with our family. I haven’t seen Laura for years now. I taught her when she was in 7th grade, but now she is married and a mother and a beautiful woman. The rumors are true: I am getting old. Laura was an All-State volleyball player in high school, an intimidating middle-blocker for an amazing high school team. Laura is special in her own right, but Laura has always been extra special to me because of her big brother.

Jarrod was one of my favorite players back in my coaching days. He was a troublemaker in a lot of ways, but one of those troublemakers you couldn’t help but love. Jarrod caught me kissing Jody one night (when we were first dating), and Jarrod showed up at our house on our honeymoon (unbeknownst to him!). In between all of his misadventures and bouts with trouble, I told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too. Which made his death at age 19 so tragic for me. Jarrod was out too late one night and showed up at a friend’s house early in the morning hours. His friend was startled to hear someone banging on the door at such an hour and took a gun to the door. The story goes that he had relaxed by the time the gun accidentally discharged, sending the fatal bullet into Jarrod’s brain. I had the sad honor of carrying Jarrod’s casket to the cemetery.

This makes me love Laura a lot, even though we have never spent a lot of time with each other, and even though we haven’t spoken in years. She and her husband are thinking of relocating to the Coast, and they gave us a call last week. We told her to come down and stay with us and have a look around, so she came tonight. It was so good to see her.

My first memories of Laura are of her and her big brother coming to school early in the morning with Jarrod opening the door for his little sister. When my wife was pregnant with our now nine-year-old daughter, we picked out names for a girl and a boy. If she would have been a boy, her middle name would have been Jarrod. That ought to tell you how special it was to see Laura tonight.

So one family friend, full of good memories, is in the middle of tragedy today. And another family friend, formed in tragedy, shared good memories tonight.

Happy Labor Day.