You'll recall I wrote about my cousin Tina's passing in last week's column.
I wrote mostly about the kind of person she was.
But I didn't truly reflect on that until Sunday, September 9, 2012.
Much like every Sunday, I was tapping away at my computer keyboard in my office at the radio station where I work. I work a Sunday through Thursday work week, with Fridays and Saturdays off.
It was about 8:30 in the morning, and I was in the middle of typing a news story into our website portal when I heard my cell phone ring.
I gazed at the caller ID. It was my Dad's number.
Right away I knew something was amiss.
Number one, my dad's not really a phone guy. Two, he returns calls, but doesn't necessarily initiate a phone conversation. Then there was the hour at hand.
Immediately, I thought..."someone died."
My mind immediately flashed to my 92-year-old grandmother. My last surviving grandparent.
She's survived two mild strokes, and aside from occasional forgetfulness, she's still very much well within her right frame of mind.
She still lives in the same house she raised her family in since 1955. She still cooks for whomever stops over that happens to be hungry.
Fully independent. But at 92, anything can happen.
Especially after she said on more than one occasion that she was 'ready to go'. That was after my grandfather's passing in December of 2006.
But it wasn't Grandma.
"Tina passed away last night," my dad said.
My jaw dropped. But I kept a firm grip on that phone as he gave me the details.
Nothing could have prepared me for that one.
Tina had survived ongoing health problems since first being diagnosed with kidney failure at the age of seven.
Once she survived her teen years, everyone relaxed a bit.
After all, it was Tina.
She was an example of "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
And strong she was.
But as she was approaching 40, the hospital visits were getting to be more frequent. Middle age, I mused.
I somehow knew she wasn't going to live a full chronological life as the rest of us knew it.
45 or 50, I thought.
Never in a million years would I have dreamed that she would have left this world at 37.
The injustice of it all began to wash over me.
How does someone who used her ill health as a motivator to try harder than everyone else have to die, and those who throw away opportunity after opportunity to do better get to live?
I'm sure it was running through my Aunt Bev's mind as she wept over her daughter's lifeless body in the viewing room at the funeral home, with a strangled 'why' between stifled sobs.
That's when I began to remember my faith.
Our final rewards are not found on this earth.
We were not meant to inhabit this world forever.
"The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life." John 12:25
Now Tina no longer has to worry about things like dialysis, doctors, hospitals, frequent medications or anything else slowing her down.
I began to think of how Tina left this world.
My grandpa might have come to get her.
And she might have protested at first...at the thought of leaving everyone behind.
"They'll be OK, Tina," is what Grandpa would say.
And that would be enough for her.
I like to think of them sitting on a front porch like the one at my grandparents' home, with Grandpa still in his tank top shirt with his leather flyswatter in his hand. Woe to any insect that came near him.
Or maybe she's reunited with Uncles Henry and Ed and cousin Joey at a pig roast at a camp just like Henry had in Pennsylvania when he came 'down' from Michigan.
Maybe Uncle Bill will be there too...and she'll say "Don't I know you?"
She was five when he died.
Then Uncle Frank. He'll greet her with his usual stock line: "So what's the good word?"
And maybe she's enjoying a beer or a shot with them all without worrying about 'paying for it later', and in a much more severe way than we would.
After the funeral, I took a gamble and told her brother's wife that she was going to give God a run for his money. The gamble paid off...we were both able to laugh, as were a few others.
And before that, as we filed past her body, and while others were saying goodbye, I could think of only one thing to say:
I managed a slight smile through my still-hydrating eyes as I said "Give 'em hell, Tina."
And I felt her behind my back saying "Oh, don't you worry about that."
Because we know she will.
She wouldn't have it any other way.
After all, someone's gotta keep those other angels on their toes.
NEXT WEEK: Adventures in Zombieland
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