This past Sunday I went to the showing of my friend, who recently took his life. The parking lot was full. He was loved.

I’ve only known him a few short years, but in that time we became very close friends, sometimes talking everyday. His girlfriend and I also became very good friends.

The family was gracious enough to allow the woman he loved, his girlfriend, to come early to have some time alone with him. She came and brought her two young daughters to say goodbye. More on that later.

I don’t do well at showings or funerals. I was in the third grade when my grandfather passed away, and that was my first showing. He had gone out to shovel snow and knew that his elderly neighbors could not tackle the task, so he shoveled their walk. He came back in the house and had a massive heart attack and passed away. We were buddies. He showed me how to fix my bike, do woodworking and so much more. It took decades to get the image of him lying in that casket out of my mind.

The next showing was someone I had been friends with during my high school days. She had been hit by a car while getting out of a vehicle. Her face was poorly reconstructed. It was so bad, it reminded me of a jigsaw puzzle. I didn’t do well with that either.

With the exception of an employee that unexpectedly passed away back in 1993, I didn’t attend any other showings for close 30 years. At my employee’s showing, no one was there. I mean literally, there was no on there. That ate at my heart and I broke down. The next one I attended was last year for Hartley McLeod. Hart was a genuine guy, a prince, and it was nice to reconnect with his children Pam and Hart Jr, who I had worked with when I first came to Fort Wayne. In spite of that, I became overly emotional and had to leave.

More recently, a close friend’s father passed, and out of respect I went to the showing. I had never met the man. Again, emotion took control, the tears started and I had to leave. I guess I’m just not good at handling death, but I am working on it and praying more than I ever before.

As I walked into the building Sunday, my friend lay in his casket only 15 feet or so from the door. The uncontrollable tears started, and I had to make an exit to the back of the building. I was embarrassed, but the tears would not stop. After about 10 minutes, I finally got it together and proceeded to the viewing line. I saw a face I knew and approached her. We hugged, and the uncontrollable emotion kicked in again.

Then she dropped the bad news.

It seems a family member had an issue with his girlfriend. They didn’t want her there, and she was summarily asked to exit the facility before anyone else came. Needless to say, I was shocked out of my emotions. I made my way to the front of the line and found my friend’s sister. Although I’d only met her once at the hospital on the day of his death, I think she’s a very nice person. We hugged, I cried, she cried. I gave her a CD I had burned of pictures of her brother, said goodbye, and I left the building in search of his girlfriend.

After a great deal of searching, I found her in the parking lot. She was standing there crying in the cold between the cars, with mascara running all over her face. She was a mess.

Saying goodbye is something that is tough for all involved. In this case, even more tough. My friend had become so out of control, his family had not been in contact with him in several months. I suppose there were lots of assumptions being made about his girlfriend as a result of things my friend may have said to his family. I’m only guessing here, but knowing him and the conjured up life he was living, I can only guess.

I understand the family’s grief. But to deny the woman that spent the last several years living with him access to his final goodbye has me miffed. I guess I’m at the very least perplexed. She worked hard to help him address his demons, but she never got the chance to explain that.

So be it, it’s over now.

He had a private funeral yesterday that was restricted to the family. I understand. I really do. Today I took his girlfriend to his grave and we said our final goodbye. Going to a fresh grave on a cold December day can bring on a case of melancholy, but now, I think I have closure.

I’m really going to miss him.

Rest in peace my friend.

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