You got to choose your own way out. You didn’t get to choose where you were put to rest, or what your tombstone looked like, or what shoes you were buried in. You didn’t get to choose what stories we told about you at your funeral, or what photos we used, or what the music playlist was. You didn’t get to choose what would happen to all your t-shirts, guitar pedals, CDs. You didn’t get to choose who moved on and who still feels stuck in their grief eight years later.
Life didn’t end when you died, you just removed yourself from it. Your suffering ended, our suffering endures.
But so does our ability to find beauty, to treat each other well, to act with love and wisdom and intention. To make tomorrow better than today. That’s what I’m choosing.
RIP Mike. Eight years has flown by. I’m kinda mad at you today but I love you and miss you all the time. Glad I got to come visit the other day.
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Reflecting on the imprint we make while we’re here. I never met Conrad, but as the stage manager of a midwestern landmark music venue myself, it’s hard not feel a connection there. To see the impact Conrad had while carrying himself in such a role has been both moving and a little disorienting. It shows me how much dignity and significance we can have by being part of a community, even when we’re not the ones in the spotlight. RIP Conrad.
