Connecting the Dots

We had the unenviable task of attending the viewing and funeral for our young cousin David, who passed away earlier this week. Though he was Gregg's first cousin, we didn't know him well. When David was born, Gregg was already 26 years old, and on the cusp of entering his real adulthood. We were married and had our first child a few years later, so for most of David's life, we were in different worlds.

That's not to say we didn't know him. When he was very little, and I met him for the first time, we attended his big brother's First Communion. He was a very precocious little boy, and I was charmed by him. I knelt down in the kitchen to say hello to him, and as I greeted him, he took one look at me and smacked me right on the face. (The first and last time ANYone has ever done that to me.) I looked up stunned and a little embarrassed that I couldn't work my magic on him. I never mentioned it to his mommy and daddy, I didn't see the need, and I didn't want them to be upset by it, because I certainly wasn't, just a little stunned, I guess.

When he was older, we shared that story with him, and thought he had no recollection, he did apologize for his behavior.

For many years, on the night after Christmas, David's parents, would have the whole family over to celebrate and bond. David, a gifted musician, kept to himself, disappearing for long stretches, and then we'd see him sitting at the piano, alone in the living room, making music that seemed somehow beyond the reach of someone so young.

But, still, we didn't know him well. My older daughters certainly didn't. He was 7 or 8 years older than they are, so I'm sure neither party had too much interest at family gatherings. And so, we never really got the chance to forge a close relationship.

We took the older girls to the viewing on Wednesday night. The line wound around the funeral home and we waited in the stark quiet for our turn to greet the family, and view the body. As we approached the main area, we heard piano music. These were recordings of David's amazing music. Beautiful displays were set up, as a memorial. Gracing this area were his keyboard, a guitar, some favorite nick-nacs, a letter from his girlfriend, and pictures. Pictures from our family get togethers, soccer and baseball games, birthday parties, his sister's wedding.

We were in a couple of the pictures. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was, a little. These 40 or so pictures were a memorial to David, but really they were just the dots. Like the dots in a "Connect the dots" picture. We get to see the dots, but it is up to us to really fill in the blanks and to add color and life to the picture.

We got to see the significant moments, but his life was so much more. These are the things about him that I'll probably never know. The timbre of his voice, what made him laugh, a quirky mannerism, his favorite book, his favorite music. I know he played soccer, but what position. I know he had a girlfriend, but for how long and how serious? He was an Uncle, but was he around a lot? Was he like Aunt Wendi is to my girls?

I realize that's why I felt so odd about being in the photographic memorial to his life. We were there, given important billing, but we were probably not anyone he ever thought about.

But it does make sense. What we are to our family, even family we are not close to (and we all have extended family like that) is the bare bones of life. Family is what defines you before you ever can define yourself. And those moments, the soccer games, the piano recitals the family gatherings begin to give life it's shape. The rest was up to him. Just like the dots in that connect-the-dots drawing. How sad that this drawing never had the chance to really get finished.