When Gratefulness Is Elusive: Part II
Back in September, I wrote about my friend Phil. My longest, and perhaps closest friend. We attended his funeral later that week, spending time with his family and watching video submissions from his community in Tuscon, AZ where he lived and worked.
Our high school is/was a reasonably large private school, offering Kindergarten through 12th. Phil had been at that school since early elementary, as had some of the people we ended up graduating with. I did not enter this world until 9th grade, so my history with them is comparatively abbreviated. These are friends with whom I have shared 25 years of my life with, near and far, but Jerrod and Phil were basically from childhood.
In attendance was my old friend Jerrod. Jerrod was perhaps the most sincere friend I have ever had. I realize now that I had with Jerrod much of what I had with Phil, and that was a true bond. I want to be clear about what I mean with the whole ‘true bond’ idea. It was the kind that did not expire, or erode one’s willingness to reconnect after extended non-interaction. Jerrod quite literally managed friendships with a lot of people, giving specific thought to the things that connected him to them.
Over the last few years, Jerrod and I would occasionally connect and either talk on the phone or exchange a few texts, usually inside jokes, but we very rarely talked about anything super serious. A handful of times we would get serious for a second, talk about family, our work, what is good and what is not. With each new avenue in life he’d take, his phone number would change fairly often and he would forget to tell me so I would get these weird texts and ignore them. I finally would get a joke only he and I would know, and add that number to contacts.
Jerrod made himself at home, quite literally. When were in high school, he would come over and while everyone says 'make yourself at home’ as a courtesy, not everyone receives that as openly as intended — Jerrod would take full advantage of that. Thing is, in my house we really do want our guests to sort of figure it out for themselves. It is not often that someone does that though, so there’s a lot of hospitality at first until things get a little more comfortable. Jerrod, out of the gate, learns where the silverware is, the cups, the food, all of it. We have these ceramic plates that he absolutely thought were the most amazing things in the world, plates that we normally did not use because they were heavy and just sort of there. Jerrod and I both did pottery/ceramics in high school, and while we both loved that class and Mr. Wheat, Jerrod was way more connected to the work of his hands. My ceramic dishes at home were the things he truly appreciated being a potter. An appreciation I learned from him, because to me they were just dishes in my house that we have had since I was probably a baby. One year, he got Male Athlete of the Year and I got the Pottery Award — he gave me a little grief for that, but all in good fun — he always knew that sports were at best temporary things. Ceramic dishes done well, last forever.
After high school, the lot of us went to college locally so our group of friends still managed to keep spending our time together. Jerrod and I both went to work for a valet company in Dallas, and sometimes we’d even get to work together. Every night, we would find out which account we were working and if our timing was right get something to eat after we were cut. Eventually, we both left that job and went separate ways. I graduated, got a ‘real job’ and started taking the whole grown-up thing seriously. He did too, in a way, but it was around this time that we lost touch.
Jerrod was always diligent with work, and took his responsibilities pretty seriously. He also had a few vulnerabilities picked up in our youth that would end up being a thorn in his side for the remainder of his life. He was open with me about his vulnerabilities, and I would do my best to encourage him and let him know that he was safe with me. Life was not fair, particularly to him. However, he only once to me blamed an external factor for undercutting his success and potential. It was such a difficult conversation, and I wonder if that was the moment where the seeds of doubt as to whether or not he could win were sown.
Life went on, he kept working and living his life, I got married and started having kids. He would call a few times a year if we weren’t texting, and we would reminisce and play catch-up with what we were doing.
Fast forward to September 2021, Jerrod and I actually see each other for the first time in years. It would be the last time I saw him.
He texted me in November 2021, and told me that his health was not in a great way and that the road ahead would be very long. Every few weeks from there, I would text him to check on him and we’d share a few messages about his recovery, music, what kind of worship music was I into these days, etc. February 2022, I texted him my follow-up to see how he was doing and it went without response. In my heart, I was worried but I let it sit for a few days. That same Friday, another friend whom I had not heard from in forever calls. My heart sank, I knew the only reason was Jerrod, and on one hand I was hoping that it was him calling me to tell me his phone died or something, but it was not. The day I texted Jerrod to check on him, was the day he passed away, unexpectedly.
Since Phil’s funeral, we’d found opportunity to be a bit more frequent with seeing how we are, share encouragement, and for that I find space to be grateful to accompany my profound grief.
