IS YOUR BATTERY CHARGED?

Today, I went to the funeral of my neighbor. The priest shared with the congregation a theory. He explained that some people believe we enter this world as an empty battery. We spend our lives filling it up and when we are fully charged, we die. Others believe, he said, that we come into this world with our battery fully charged and when all our juice is gone, it's time for us to die.

I may be 46, but this was only the second funeral I'd attended and the first where I was actually friends with the deceased. (I know, I've managed to get away with it until now.) I am not the type to cry in public. At my kids' kinder and elementary graduations, and other emotional milestones, I am often one of the few dry eyes amongst a river of tears and soggy kleenex. Today, I thought, would be no different. But the minute I walked in and spotted Steve's handsome, youthful face smiling from the pile of wallet-sized photos the family had made for the guests, I knew I was wrong.

Steve's childhood friend and brother recalled details of the life he led which made the reality of why we were gathered all the more incomprehensible. Steve was loved by so many. He was one of those people who lived life to the fullest. As a child, he led the kids on his block, always inspiring and pushing them to make the most out of even the smallest, most boring moments. He remained that way as an adult. I had tried in the last week to make sense of his death. To wrap myself around and find comfort in intellectual reasoning. These stories weren't helping.

Why would someone so vibrant, so loved, give up? Leave his family to go on without him and create such hardship? His childhood friend said it best when he remarked that all those close to Steve knew that he loved them, knew that he loved life. He said that many, including himself, were struggling with feelings of anger and confusion. He suggested we all find some comfort in knowing that Steve, in the last few months, was no longer the Steve they knew. He was someone entirely different. The person they knew, the person they loved, who loved them, would never have done anything so selfish.

I think that's the only way I can truly digest this. To believe that Steve's brain was no longer his own. That he had been overtaken by a dark, corrupting force that was more powerful than he. Steve was a fighter. If he could have won this battle with his demons, we all must know, he would have.

In terms of the priest's analogy, it sounds like Steve was a member of the group that began life with their battery full. He just used up his juice faster than his loved ones would have liked. I, on the other hand, think I'm a member of the group that starts out empty and charges their battery up slowly over time. So, I'm going to pick up my kids from school and take them out for ice cream. I might even actually cook dinner. My battery needs some charging.