It wouldn’t hurt so bad if he had been suffering for ages.

It wouldn’t hurt so bad if our last meeting hadn’t ended so abruptly.

It wouldn’t hurt so bad if he had lived a good long life, if he had been as old as Methuselah. He just had so much left to do.

It wouldn’t hurt so bad if he had lived to see the grandbabies.

It wouldn’t hurt so bad if she had gone unexpectedly quick, like the wind blowing out a flame.

It wouldn’t have hurt so bad if she had known us at the end.

It wouldn’t be so hard if we could have said goodbye.

It wouldn’t hurt so bad if…if…if, if, if.

If.

But the truth is, the only way it wouldn’t hurt so bad is if we hadn’t loved them. And if they hadn’t loved us back.

But yet we tell ourselves these lies, attempting to masquerade our grief, and make excuses for why we sob as they slipped from this life into the next one.

Isn’t this true for anybody you lose? Anyone you cared for?

Eight years ago, Colonel Thomas made me a promise via Facebook messenger.

“Please don’t die,” I wrote, somewhat beseechingly. I was at KFC with Uncle Dale, immediately following the funeral of Joe Irwin. Joe had been a second father figure to Uncle Dale since Pap had passed back in’87. It was evident what he meant to him. They could frequently be found telling lies at The Round Table at Bob’s Mountaineer Restaurant, or maybe coaxing fish in the boat on the Clinch.  Joe was generally around when some sort of repair or general work was being performed. He served as “The Pointer”. Anyway, I knew burying him would take a toll on Uncle Dale. He had just lost a good hunting buddy not too long before. Sometimes, people get gone before you’ve settled your mind to it. I didn’t want him to lose any more for a good long time.

“I’ll do my best not to,” Kent promised from Massachusetts.

Kent was one of my very first friends on Facebook. He was pretty techie for a man his age. But, given his career, it wasn’t any wonder. I was still learning the ins and outs of my Blackberry. That thing was complicated! I still believe if you could use one of them, you can fly the space shuttle.

Anyway. Kent kept his promise for over eight years. During that time, my uncle lost another dear friend to cancer and countless neighbors, former coworkers, friends, and family. But Kent was the closest thing he had to a brother. He came over and helped me set out tomato plants when Uncle Dale was in the hospital with his hip surgery. He loaned him a cool little machine, I would liken it to a miniature skid steer to clean out the pine thicket. He was always around, even when he lived all over the country, because they stayed in touch via phone calls and email. And I guess even snail mail back in the early days.

Please be in prayer for the family of Colonel Kent Thomas and my Uncle Dale who isn’t afraid to say he’s going to miss him so, so much.