Jar of Love

Lindsee is my roommate. Her dad died unexpectedly last week. We had dinner together last night. We ate at a small cafe. She laughed and we mostly avoided any subject too tender. But she did talk about the funeral and her dad, which I think is a good sign. Lindsee relayed the most endearing story about her parents.

Valentine’s Day is approaching. A while back Lindsee’s dad had mentioned something he wanted to do for Valentine’s Day. A couple of days after the funeral Lindsee was searching through some things in her closet in her old room at her parent’s home. She soon discovered what her dad had thought of months before. There sat a jar full of stories and notes and pastimes. Lindsee’s dad had written down all the memories he had enjoyed with his wife. Included was their first kiss, first date, and every other moment that was special to he and his wife. It was a jar of love. He had also already ordered flowers for Valentine’s Day. In two weeks Lindsee’s mom will receive a bouquet and one last reminder that her husband loved her. She reads a note from the jar each day. She grasps as much of him as possible. I remember my heart thudded and I felt chills as Lindsee told me this story. What a romantic end to something so seemingly tragic. Lindsee mentioned how it seemed that her dad unknowingly had prepared for his death. I wonder the same thing. I imagine the Lord knew that was what Lindsee’s mom needed.

Death is such a fragile subject that we avoid and often fear. So hear me out for a moment – I am going to sound slightly morbid…maybe.

THERE IS SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL IN DEATH.

Perhaps it’s my knowledge of the Plan of Salvation. Perhaps it’s because I have not yet lost a family member and I can’t embrace the exact emotions involved. But the Spirit was lingering perfectly in the corner of the café. Lindsee and I shared Italian bread and she never cried. She smiled and while she told me the story of her dad her expression mirrored the Lindsee I met a month ago. There wasn’t sadness. I found the way we sat, the way we spoke, the way we lingered, was beautiful. The moment was beautiful. I am not demeaning death or how it may turn a bright world into something so placid and meek. But in Lindsee’s loss, she gained an everlasting memory of her dad. She was thinking back to every good moment in her life with her dad. Perhaps in all its ugliness, death allows us to freeze all the goodness, all the happiness, all the – everything! – Of that person and make it ours to have forever. Lindsee's mom received an actual tangible jar of every good moment, but she already knew those moments. She didn't necessarily need the jar. We are building various jars of love. Our emotions are sharp, clear, and brimming on the surface so real that they are so honest that we love that person all the more. And we can realize how beautiful life was – how beautiful it is. We recognize life. Does that make sense? And then one day, yes, we also die. One day we enter the heavens and there will be that person, waiting. I believe there is nothing more beautiful. If death is the means of such joy, then that is a beautiful thing.

I love Lindsee. I hope she and her family will be okay.