𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝

I had a plan for this morning’s Patio Pondering. I had the bones for a reflection about how we react when our credibility is questioned. I had examples, reactions, and suggestions.

That all changed when my 15-year-old told me one of the members of his Boy Scout troop died last week.

His revelation hit me hard. But what he said next devastated me. The young man, about to start his sophomore year, was one of 𝘮𝘺 𝘚𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴. I had been his Den Leader for two years and helped him cross over into his current troop. While my leadership at the troop level was different than the Cub Scout den, I still considered him one of mine. I had watched him and the others interact, lead, and advance.

It tugs at your heart when your own son asks if he can attend the funeral. You realize just how much these boys mean to one another, even if they don't say it out loud.

This death is bookmarked with the passing of my Great Aunt Joan, who passed through her earthly veil at 100 years old, closing out my grandfather’s generation that spanned more than 118 years.

It seems I was just here, reflecting on the simultaneous deaths of a young person and an older family member. I do not like the pattern that is developing. The contrast of emotions between these two losses is stark and hard to process.

For Joan, it is a celebration of 100 years of a life well lived, filled with memories of the Good Old Days and thoughts about her generation’s contribution to our family.

For Donovan, my thoughts are much more melancholy. I hurt for his family. I hurt for his troop mates and his bandmates. I hurt for myself and for the other parents of his peers, as we try to help our children process emotions and questions they should not have to face this early in life. I hurt for the leaders at his school and his troop, who must lead others while grieving themselves.

As a fellow band parent, I was looking forward to the chance of seeing him perform with the Snider High School marching band at one of this fall’s competitions. With my own son in the Leo band, I knew our paths might cross. I imagined scanning the sea of black and yellow, hoping to catch a glimpse of Donovan before enjoying the performance from the stands. Sadly, that opportunity is now gone.

In my last conversation with him, he told me he wanted to be a nuclear engineer, a lofty goal that reflected his intelligence. This was a brilliant young man, and the world never got to see the impact he might have had.

I do not know how to end this with anything uplifting that does not feel forced or overly religious. I believe both Joan and Donovan are in a better place and are enjoying the joys of life everlasting.

But for me, I just have to get through the week, somehow.