"Dad passed [died] on Tuesday," my cousin, Lawrence, said when he called. "I'm going home to make arrangements."
Maybe it was knowing that this was the death of his only parent left. Maybe it was the struggle, the disconnect with his father over the years. Maybe it was the years of neglect where a man's calling took precedence over his wife and family. I dunno. All I know is yesterday evening, I had to go to Roxboro to be with my cousin.
That determination spurred me on as my son and I drove from 4:45pm until 7: 50pm to find the church where the wake would be. That resolve relentlessly beat in my chest when I'd make a wrong turn, go miles out of the way, stop to ask strangers for directions, make another wrong turn, and drive even further out of the way. I got to get there. I gotta to be there for him. Despite my own fatigue from lack of rest coming out of a jam-packed Memorial Day weekend, I drove. All looked lost until we came upon a trailer where an elderly woman was sweeping the small porch in front. "If this doesn't work, we're going home," I told my son.
FINALLY!
My heart felt like it was about to beat out of my chest as we pulled into the crowded parking lot of the church. With the wake ending at 8:00pm, we had little more than 10 minutes to get inside. If I can just hug him. I just have to let him know that I care. We entered the church, packed as if it was a Sunday morning. We scooted into a pew at the back. That very moment, the presider said, "Would the family like to say anything?" I looked around. Nobody. I stood up. With nothing prepared, without really thinking about it, I stood up. I can't remember all that I said, to be honest with you, but I can say this. I hugged my cousin, my dear dear cousin Lawrence, as I passed him on the way to the front of the church. I told him about the challenging trip to get there only to say, "That's how important you are. We HAD to get here just…for…you." I saw him burst into tears. This man, who had to drive from Petersburg, Virginia to Durham to take care of funeral arrangements when he himself was just recovering from congestive heart failure and pneumonia. This man, who had been my go-to when I had questions about the men I was dating. This man, who had driven miles and incurred expense to help me with my nonprofit. My cousin, who I grew up with and innocently practiced kissing on when we were kids (that's what watching soap operas as a child will do to you…lol). My cousin who was now orphaned. This man's eyes filled with tears.
Empathy is defined as the ability to put yourself in someone else's shoes. Though I strive to do that with everyone I talk with, I believe there is a more Divine layer to this called Kindness With Connection. The first person I ever heard use this term was Oprah Winfrey. I can't recall her exact definition but my takeaway is Kindness With Connection is when an act of kindness ceases to be about you and ministers to the heart of the other person. It's the difference between you giving me the gift you want to give me and giving me the gift that honors the essence of me. It tells me I see you, I hear you and you matter. I needed for my cousin to know that HE mattered. I needed him to know that I saw, I heard and that he mattered. Everyone else was there to celebrate his dad. Of course they were and rightly so. He was their leader. He was the man who gave of himself for them. They were the recipients of his best. The very people who, in a child's eyes, took his dad from him and his mom. And while others talked of his dad's impact on their lives, I saw a humility and grace. My cousin could have had an arrogant spirit. He could have decided that he would show them. He was in the driver's seat now. Instead, my cousin smiled and hugged them. He told them to follow his dad's example. To pick up the phone and let the people in their lives know that they love them because they don't know when it will be their last time. To me, my cousin is the truly great man and things happened the way they were suppose to just so he'd know that.
