Recently I attended a funeral for a friend.
He was 49. So young.
But eleven short months after being diagnosed, he was gone.
Nothing felt quite real as I listened to his loved ones talk about what a remarkable man he was. They told stories of his warm heart, his sharp wit, and his intense loyalty to family and friends.
The tears flowed faster than they could be wiped away, hearing those touching tributes. There were many laughs too.
After the service, there was a wake he would have loved. Family, good friends, plentiful food and drink. A band played some of his favourite rock classics. I couldn't help but notice Space Oddity and Hotel California in the mix, made all the more powerful by the current setting and recent events.
Photo slide shows of his life played on every television. I reminisced with his friends and family, sharing many poignant and funny stories about the man we loved. It truly felt like a celebration of his life.
However, as I left that day, I had this peculiar feeling that I couldn't shake. A vague discomfort I just couldn't put my finger on.
For days I couldn't stop thinking about the service. I kept thinking about the lovely words that were said, the strong feelings that were shared. Then it dawned on me why I felt so uncomfortable.
All those beautiful sentiments, but he wasn't around to hear any of them.
What a sad thought.
Had they ever shared just how they felt about him when he was still here? Did he even have a clue how much he was loved by the hundreds of people in that church, how important he was to them?
These questions consumed my thoughts, and I started to think about my own life.
Do any of us tell the important people in our lives what they mean to us?
I do my absolute best to keep connected with everyone I know, but am I saying enough?
I can't imagine the heartbreak and regret of speaking at a loved one's funeral, knowing that I never got to tell them how I truly felt.
Then I started to wonder: How would someone react if I sent a message revealing how I feel? Would it make them feel uncomfortable? Would they think I was being over-the-top and dramatic, or worse yet, insincere?
How would people honestly react to such a deeply emotional note?
Then the universe answered my questions the very next day with an Instagram post.
Instagram Post: Years ago I met a woman who changed my world. If you've been fortunate enough to meet her you'll know exactly what I mean.
She's this ray of intoxicating sunshine - the kind of presence in a room that draws you to herself effortlessly, magnetically, like a fluttering moth to a lantern.
She's addictive.
She's authentic, opinionated, simultaneously simple and complex. In my youthful way, nearly a decade ago, I would ask myself, "What would Heidi do?". I wanted to be her when I grew up.
But do you know what's even more amazing than growing up to become someone you admire? Growing up to become someone that THEY admire.
The post was about me!
There are no words to describe how I felt in that moment. It was overwhelming. It made me feel acknowledged. It made me feel important.
It made me feel loved.
That was the answer I was looking for. It was now time for me to start sharing, to fully show my heart to all the people I love.
How do you think your friends and family would feel if you told them how you really feel? I can tell you: Amazing.
The things you say after someone has died could benefit them so much while they're still alive. So say them. Don't think about it...just do it.
Before it's too late.
Who would you love to reach out to? Join the conversation and leave a comment below and please share.
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