Three goodbyes, three lessons on living

In the span of one recent long weekend, I found myself
at two different funerals and a visitation. Three different
lives. Three different connections to my own story.
It was sobering. It was tender. It was a reminder of
just how many strands weave the fabric of our
lives.
The first service was for a high school classmate.
We graduated in 1970, though I confess
it doesn’t seem that long ago when I see those
yearbook photos. She and I ran in different circles,
but at Farmerville High, the circles always
seemed to overlap. After graduation, we didn’t
stay in contact – except for high school reunions
– but she was part of that slice of time that
shaped who I became.