Nameless Friend

I have visited many funeral homes over the past three decades but when I was

there to view my only son for the final time, it was as if I’d never been before. 

There were no rules of etiquette and acting naturally was impossible.

I could not sit still because when I did, my mind felt bombarded with thoughts

that I could not handle. Thinking brought grief, pain, disbelief, anxiety, and suffering. Dealing with the reality of Jason’s death was something my psyche and my heart were not prepared for. The more I thought about things, the more unanswered question I had.

Jason had been on his way to compete in the Western Canadian finals in Track

and Field on a lovely Sunday morning. Two Americans who traveled behind him said he was driving fine, and then suddenly the car went out of control. The men applied CPR and contacted an emergency Medical team, but their help was futile, Jason was dead. He would never run on this earth again. We had all lost, not just a superb athlete, but also a human being who cared about others, a young man who would have made a significant difference. I had lost my youngest child, my friend, my reason for laughter.

Why did the car go out of control? I had just recently had the car in the repair

shop. In trying to save money, did I select a mechanic who was unskilled? Why was he traveling alone? Perhaps if I had gone with him he would still be alive. What happened that day? Jason’s doctor suspected an aneurysm. I could not face reading the medical examiner’s report. There were too many thoughts, too many questions, and no acceptable answers.

Keeping busy helped push away the thoughts. That hurt less. I stood up and

walked over to the casket, huge sprays of flowers banking either side. I looked down on my son and ached to lift him up and hold him. What would happen if I did that? Was the back of his head so damaged I would discover some of the injuries he had sustained?

Again, at this moment, there were painful realities I wanted to avoid! I touched him and could not feel his presence. I moved away and let the flowers hold my attention.

I wondered who had sent all these flowers and began reading the cards, then a

second time out loud, to tell my daughters and their dad who had sent what. I choked up from all the kind sentiments, the outpouring of love and positive thoughts. Still feeling that need to be busy I moved toward the back of the funeral parlor. That was when I noticed the feet.

I could see that at the very back and to the right of the main entrance someone sat out of sight. Only the shoes and bit of trouser leg indicated somebody was present. Curiously, I wondered who it was and why they were hiding. I continued past the entrance until a boy came into view.

I was seeing a distressed young man, about seventeen years old. Jason was

seventeen. Perhaps this was someone from the high school or a team mate from the Titan’s Athletic Track Club. I was puzzled. I thought I knew all of Jason’s friends and his teammates. I had never seen this young person.

I spoke to him, "Excuse me, I don’t know you."

He looked so shy and vulnerable and seemed somewhat uncomfortable as he

stood. He replied, "I’m sorry. I do not belong here but your son was always kind to me. He would take time to talk to me at school. I know I don’t belong, but I had to come." Grateful tears burned in my eyes. He was allowing me to see my son through his eyes and as he spoke to me, I pictured Jason in my mind’s eye, laughing, caring about others, interested in those around him. I could picture the two of them talking, Jason with his tall lanky frame and his melt-your-heart smile. I could see him listening to this young man, caring about what he had to say, taking time for others! This youth was confirming that Jason was a good person, a caring person. My emotions overcame me, and I found it

difficult to continue to express myself.

I reached out for his hand in gratitude, really wanting to hug him, and said, "Yes, you do belong here. Thank you for coming. Thank you for telling me about my son."

I did not see the young man again until the following day at the cemetery while

sitting at Jason’s graveside. Many family and friends surrounded me, yet I felt so alone.

How could I go on without Jason? We had lived alone, our bedrooms side by

side. We had chatted and laughed even as we lay in our beds at night. We had shopped at strange hours and were sometimes up and down at work as early as 6 a.m. Jason, not wanting to catch a bus to school, would travel down with me to the Y.M.C.A where I worked as a director. If I had an early class to teach, he would sleep in the Health Club until it was time to go to class. He shared my life. I shared his. How could he be dead?

This was not real. Please give me back my son. I needed his comfort. I needed someone to hold me and take away the pain. I reached out to whoever stood behind me. Tears poured down my face, blurring my vision. I did not know whose hand held mine, but he held tightly as if feeling my pain. The tight grasp telegraphed caring and understandingand I cried even more. When the tears stopped, I looked up into the warm caring face of that same youth from the funeral home. For the second time in two days, he was comforting me. No words could fill the void now; he was just there for me.

Later Jason’s close friends spoke with me. They told me that at school, the young fellow had few friends and most students considered him a geek. I did not see him that way and would be proud to call him a friend, as my son had done.

Like a friend, he was at my side and understood my need for human touch. Like a friend, he gave me treasured good news about my son. I am grateful this young man was there for me. I never saw him again. I wish I knew his name.