The Final Farewell

Today I’m attending the sad goodbye for Lauren Davis and I’ve been asked to read a poem during the service.

Riding with me is one of the groomsmen from Lauren’s wedding to Phil less than two years ago. A buddy of Phil’s from school in Ottawa, he now works here in London and I’m grateful for the company.

This grief isn’t a dull ache. It’s a sharp, stabbing pain that is at times almost unbearable but at all times, infinitely worse for Lauren’s family. And I know, sadly, from experience, that dulling it isn’t the right thing to do. The grieving yearn for normalcy and routine. Control. But you push through it, you feel it in all of its agony and then you put the pieces back together. Family and friends help. Support from strangers helps. Work helps. Nothing cures, but it eases the pain. And then it washes over you again when you least expect it. It’s life’s cruelest reality. We can lose the ones we love.

The memorial will be streamed live on from 1-2 pm. I can’t even begin to predict how it will feel to be there. All at once I’m looking forward to, and deeply dreading it. I wish more than anything that it didn’t have to happen but we know that you can’t turn back time.

Lauren’s last words were, “I love you”. She lived her love out loud. When I was her age, I love you was reserved for a very few and rarely, if ever, articulated. Now I say it all the time. If you’re my friend, I love you and I want you to know it. I want it to mean something to you because it means something to me. Thanks for coming here today. I love you.

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