Dear Kermit,
I wish you were here…
to help our friends grieve.
to sit with my mother while she cries.
to see people show up from all over the world to honor you.
to mock the music they played at your funeral.
I wish you were here…
to see your brother come to church.
to hold your niece’s hand, tell your sister you forgive her, show your brother how proud you are of him, and roll your eyes at your dad.
to hold and admire our friend’s new baby, making this new mother feel confident and comfortable and loved.
to read to the kids and enthrall them with crafts, even while I selfishly enjoy that they are sitting on my lap in your absence.
I wish you were here…
to say, “Ashes, let’s go do something.”
to hike through the woods with me and curse like a sailor at your mortal enemy, the woodchuck.
to tell your side of stories – like hiking a volcano in New Mexico, camping in a sandstorm in Michigan, and having a kid jump on your Jeep in Virginia Beach.
to say exactly how much you hate something, reveling in the awkward moments afterward.
to come find me in a corner and make me laugh when I’m trying to hide from a crowd.
I wish you were here…
to model adulthood for me, beyond the age of 38.
to ask me questions that help me understand myself.
to exasperate me as you do everything 10% better and faster than I do.
to talk about other cultures, other countries, and other decades, starting every story, “The other day…”
to find Jesus in every single topic, even outhouses and origami.
I wish you were here…
to know just how much you changed everyone’s lives around you.
I will wish you were here for the rest of my life.
But I would never wish that for you.
So to echo your exasperated youth group wisdom, I’ll just say this: “Say hello to Jesus for me!”
Love, your Toadie
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