Faith

The Head of the Line

Susannah B. Lewisby Susannah B. Lewis
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The Head of the Line

Last week, my oldest friend’s mother died.

Kristen and I were the best of friends for years. I talk about her in my first book and she was with me for many memories in my second book. Her mama was dear to my heart. Mrs. Teresa was loud and funny. Our moms together were a force to be reckoned with. When together, they cackled so loudly that people would stare. Kristen and I would just shake our heads in embarrassment.

When I hugged Kristen’s dad at the funeral, he said to me, “You’re both too young. Too young not to have your mothers.”

That’s what it’s become, I guess. My parents are dead. My friend’s parents are dying. And we are moved right up to the head of the line.

“Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.” That’s what David Gilmour said.

But there’s still a while for us, isn’t it? Our friends aren’t dying yet. We attend funerals for the parents of friends. We’ve still got a ways to go before we reach the head of the line. We’ve still got so much life to live. We’ve got our own babies to raise. We haven’t watched our children receive diplomas. We haven’t cried as our daughters pick out wedding gowns. We haven’t relinquished our sons to women who will love them well.

We’ve still got so much life to live. Still a long way from the head of the line.

That’s the mindset I possessed until I received the text that an old friend from high-school passed away. Not a friend’s parent. But a friend.

My age.
Thirty-nine.
Heart attack.

I made fun of Tyler for eating mustard on his sausage biscuit in the mornings before school. We both enjoyed giving Mrs. Sharpe a hard time in English. I have a picture of me and Tyler in a shoebox at some field party on the back of a tailgate. I’d said something ridiculous and he was laughing at me with his eyes closed and his hand in the air. We once had a tater tot food fight at Sonic. He won. He called me when my parents died. He was my friend.

Classmate. Father to two precious little boys. Full of life. He had a smile that was contagious. He was kind. Caring. That was Tyler. He was supposed to be a long way from the head of the line. He was supposed to be at the very back. He wasn’t supposed to leave his mama and daddy behind. They were supposed to go first. That’s the order of things.

My father died of a heart attack when he was in his early forties. I remember his friends being in utter shock. I remember the things they said to my mother as she wept over his casket.

“He was so young.”
“Gone too soon.”
“I just can’t believe this.”
I didn’t understand the weight of those words. He was my dad. I was in shock that he was dead, too, but parents go first, right? I didn’t realize just how young he was. But, as I creep closer and closer to forty-two, I am fully aware of just how young my daddy was. With the news of Tyler’s death, I finally get it. I comprehend those statements his friends made. They were questioning their own mortality, just as I have been.
It’s happened. Friends are dying. Not from tragic accidents but from heart attacks.
And we all just moved one more step toward the head of the line.
But thank God– thank God— the line isn’t the end. We don’t just cease to exist when we reach it.

Not Mrs. Teresa. Or Mama. Or Daddy. Or Tyler.
They’re more alive now than they ever were on this earth. They knew Jesus. Personally. In their hearts. They walked by faith, not sight.

And that’s the only thing– the only thing-– that makes me unafraid of the head of the line.
Susannah B. Lewis

Susannah B. Lewis

Wife, Mama, Author, Humorist, Podcaster, Southerner, Jesus Follower, CEO of Twelve Tails Farm.

2 comments

  2. Linda Estes says:

    Thank you for this and for the assurance of what we have to look forward to one day. Praying for his family and friends.

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