Chris Fancher

About 4 year ago, my friend Chad told me that he thought his treatments weren't ultimately going to be effective and he would die from cancer. We sat there in a brewery after talking about sports and kids and life and he said, "John, I wrote out a living eulogy for you." Tears welled up in my eyes as he told me what our friendship meant to him. Chad knew he had months to live but he wanted to say the words he would say at a funeral for others. I should have been grateful but in the moment, I was angry that he had made a really fun hangout into something awkward. But Chad didn’t care. It wasn’t about other people. It was about us. Two dudes being honest. I stumbled for a few moments, wiped back the tears and told him what I could off the top of my head: that he was a good man, a great father, a fearless leader, a kind soul. I told him that I wasn't sure if there was an afterlife (but as a fairly liberal Christian I hoped there was) but if we met again, I hoped we would make cool stuff together. I told him that I was a better person because of his role in my life. And I wept. Big convulsions. Awkward tears. In a super hipster brewery where two middle aged dudes did not belong. I’m telling you, the cringe factor was as high as it gets. But then . . . Chad died in March of 2020. Everything was shut down with COVID. I didn't get to visit him again. I didn't get to see his memorial service. I didn’t get to say my final goodbyes. But I am struck by this simple reality: Tell people what they mean to you even if it's awkward and cringey. Give them a living eulogy in the middle of a trendy hipster brewery where your tears completely kill the vibe. We get one life in this journey around the globe. Say boldly, “I love you and my life is better because of you” even if the person on the other end blushes. Because that living eulogy is a gift.

So I bit into a peppermint and said something to my class about a “flavor explosion in my mouth” My class of 8th graders. Mostly boys It was touch and go for a minute there