When I Die by Annie Flavin

"Worlds Collide" Watercolors + salt treatment

Several years ago I attended the funeral of a friend who died way too young.  She was a mom of a little boy and only 42 years old.  Tragic, heartbreaking, sad.  All of it.

I couldn't find a sitter for Grady, who was almost three at the time, so he went with me.  I sat in the back of the church for a full Catholic mass.  I had no idea how long that service would stretch and I sweated profusely and tried to respectfully listen AND keep my three year old in check and occupied.

"Large Dahlia" Micron pen 1.0 + colored pencils

I have a feeling my friend would have understood his sudden outbursts, his untimely laughter, his screeches and his need to climb up and over the pews.  I like to think she would have laughed her infectious laugh and encouraged more of this toddler behavior from Grady.  She totally understood little boys, especially her own.

I wish I had read Annie's poem before I went to that service because then I could have seen my friend in Grady.  Instead, I just shushed him and left feeling like I was only was half-present during the mass and, to be honest, a little (okay, a lot) frazzled.

Annie's poem is a beautiful reminder to appreciate this precious life right here, right now.  I especially love the last stanza.

Let them fill the void that I have left.
Let the children be children and 
let their light shine
through any sadness.
Let them be.
Tell them my name, maybe a story, too.
Remember me.  See me.
In
the
children.

I want to burn this on my brain and remember it when I hear children screaming at a school event, at a funeral or the grocery store.  When I'm uncomfortable at something my child has said, but is his truth.  I want to recall these words to help me have more compassion and see the beauty in the little ones I encounter at the park, the beach or in a quiet movie theatre.

I want to let them be.

I want to remember my friend this way.

In the children.