There is no measure...

We've all lost someone in our lives. 

The measure of that loss varies. 

The older I become, the more I realize how short life is.  How little time we truly have to spend with those we care about...with those we love.

When we're gone, what will we leave behind?

Will those who remain know how we felt about them?

Today marks two years since our family lost our Uncle Roger.  It wasn't exactly sudden as he had been battling cancer for several months.  Yet, the end came quickly.  We expected to have more time.  Even being aware there was a possibility he wouldn't win his battle, we were shocked when Monica called us and said we needed to come to Springfield to the hospital.

We didn't make it. 

Roger passed away just as we got into town.  We didn't get a chance to have those last minutes or those final words. 

Our kids were all at school and we had to call them.  The boys were on campus, but I remember Bentley being at a sisterhood canoe trip with her sorority.  Phone service was spotty, at best, but I was able to call her, too.  It was a terrible call to make.  She felt so separated from us and helpless.

We all did.

When you walk into a hospital to see someone you love laying in a room, lifeless, it's hard to put into words.  The family was gathered in a separate room, down the hall from Roger's, and we were able to go in, privately, and see him.  I was so grateful we were given that chance.  It's surreal to try to sum up memories, thoughts, and feelings and put them in a few sentences in a setting of sadness.  It all seems so inadequate.  How could we possibly say what we needed to?  Verbalize what he means to us in such a short span?  Impossible.

My memory of that day fixates on one vision.  It was Brenda sitting by Roger's bedside.  She was holding his hand and just looking.  Looking into his face.  Not saying a word.  Slowly shaking her head from side to side.  What struck me was the love on her face.  The emotions played out in her expressions and there was a flurry of them...I could almost see the different feelings pass by.  I remember thinking that I was witnessing a beautiful love story coming to it's earthly end but felt, deep in my heart, that it was taking on another dimension and would continue on.  No doubt.  I saw the connection strengthen, if possible, and change course.  It wasn't an ending.  It was a beginning.  These two souls are forever joined, even in his death. 

My husband comes from a large family.  Roger was one of his uncle's.  While we had always been close with Roger, Brenda, Monica, and Rachel...we became even closer as our own children grew.  They loved our four and would come to watch them in their different sporting events at JHS.  At one of Brody's wrestling matches, I remember someone asking if they were his grandparents.  They certainly could have been, as they are far more than an Uncle and Aunt. 

If you were to ask our kids about Roger, they would tell you how funny he was.  How he liked to kid them that they got such good grades because of his tutoring.  They all took Spanish and he would joke that they did well because of his expertise.  It was one of those family jokes that never got old.  He taught the kids that ice cream is essential to a happy life.  He'd be happy to know they all still eat ice cream and talk about him.  That tradition remains and, I'm fairly certain, it always will.

Vacations spent with Roger are included in some of our greatest family memories.  We all were together this past summer, the first time without Roger there, and it was tough.  He was such a staple on vacations that you almost expected to hear him amongst the Stewart voices on the beach or see him loaded down with chairs and coolers while asking everyone if they needed anything.

The measure of loss varies.

For Roger's "girls," Brenda, Monica, and Rachel...I can't imagine what it feels like to live without him in their lives.  He left them a legacy of love and that is priceless.

For the rest of us, we cherish our memories.  But those tend to leave us wanting more.  So grateful for the chance to have had them...to make them...with Roger.  Yet, yearning for more time.  More years.

No, we didn't get those final moments to tell Roger how we felt.  But, I know that he knew.  Just as we all know how he felt about us.  How?  Because he lived his life showing us.  When he told us 'to call if we needed anything,' we knew he really meant it.  He would have done anything for those he loved. 

Roger wasn't here with us nearly long enough. 

The measure of loss varies.

When it comes to Roger, there is no measure.

It is what it is.

p