Jennifer Plesko

Today has felt a little off all day - not just because I’m starting the work week on a Tuesday or because it’s dark and dreary outside - but because right now, there’s a funeral going on that isn’t supposed to happen yet. It’s a funeral that most people wouldn’t have expected for at least another forty or fifty years. It’s a funeral I didn’t have the courage to attend.

I found out on Sunday. When hubby and I met my parents for lunch, they handed me a newspaper clipping. Upon reading the name, I thought it was a wedding announcement. After all, I had heard he was engaged. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was an obituary. Since then, my mind has been racing as I have tried to figure out what to think about all this.

To understand what I mean, you would need to know some history. This funeral is for a guy I met at the end of eighth grade. At 6′4″, he was the tallest fourteen-year-old I had ever seen. He wore Lollapalooza t-shirts, baggy Silvertab jeans and Pumas. He loved Pink Floyd and playing the drums. He always kept a folding hairbrush in his right pocket and used it often. He was easygoing, and he made me laugh. After making his case for several months, he finally convinced me to go out with him. We dated for the next four years.

Our relationship was typical of a teenage romance; it was full of drama. And because most people change a lot between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, we developed into two completely different people. He began wearing Wranglers, listening to Hank Williams and going to drag races and swap meets. He loved cars and worked on them every chance he got. Meanwhile, I put away my Beatles t-shirts and Nirvana albums and joined the drill team, the yearbook staff, and the youth council at church. I was developing into the overcommiter I am today.

I won’t go into too much detail, but things happened along the way - things I stayed mad about for years. Even in college when he showed up out of the blue one day and apologized for some of those things, even though I told him I forgave him, I never completely let go of the resentment. As a result, I pretty much avoided him from there on out. Now, all of that stuff I held onto for so long just doesn’t seem that important. I mean, who would want to be held accountable today for things they did as a teenager?

As recently as last week, I had wondered if he would be at our high school reunion in June. I’ll talk to him then, I thought. Surely once I talk to him, I’ll be able to put all of this behind me and everything will be okay.

But instead, there’s a funeral going on right now. And it’s a funeral that was far ahead of schedule.