I hate reminders like this.
When I called to talk to the ambulance company about this bill on Wednesday, I hoped they would keep the conversation to the point. I didn’t want them to ask me how he was doing after his seven-mile ride to Mission Hospital on December 15. Thankfully, they didn’t ask. I chose not to tell them, “The least you could do is spell his name right.”
I hated looking at the itemized list of services that were necessary for Chandler that day. Just in the few minutes he was in the ambulance.
It makes it all too real again. As if there isn’t enough evidence already.
I popped into Board & Brew this evening. It is always good for my soul to hug this tribe that brought Chandler’s life so much meaning and joy. As I walked toward the bar to say hello, I pictured Chandler back there chatting it up, exuding infectious energy and genuine care for every person he served. He took pride in his community at work. They weren’t just his work people. They were his friends. Some of his best.
Being at B&B is good. But it also makes it all too real again. Seeing his skateboard on the wall. Sometimes I can’t look.
Some reminders are good. They mean Chandler was here. He made an impact. They are still painful, for the most part, right now. But I hear that in time, they may carry more joy than pain.
Some reminders absolutely suck. Like the ambulance bill. I don’t want to see anything that triggers memories of what happened on December 15 and the days following— what I saw with my own eyes and what my mind attempts to recreate to fill in the blanks. I have enough of those memories on my own without external triggers.
God, give me the strength and courage to encounter every reminder, trusting that it will not take me out. It will not possess me. Unless I let it. Amen.