Because humans are finite creatures, we have in the long stretch of human development come to understand the importance of beginnings and endings. Today is a USAmerican cultural line of demarcation: it is September 1 (“Labor Day” in 2025), the “start” of autumn. The Christian scriptures speak of “alpha” and “omega,” the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet, a reference to the all-encompassing presence of Jesus Christ. In obituaries we name the deceased one’s date of birth and date of death as significant.
Yes, we like our lines of demarcation, because this mental construct allows us to remember life-changing events. Positive and negative, these events are what orchestrate our life’s depth. Often these mental constructs are paired with the visible and sensate. As autumn begins, the morning temperature is cooler, the sun rises later, the leaves have begun to turn. When we commit the earthy remains of a loved one into the earth or the sea or another location in the natural world, we mark the location with a gravestone. When we celebrate a birthday, it is often replete with the presence of others, a cake with candles, and gifts we receive.
Today is “Labor Day,” intended to honor those whose bodies bear the brunt of regular toil for compensation. Over the decades the defined audience has broadened to include anyone who works, but in most cases few of us even think about this weekend as anything more than “the last day of summer” or “the last day before school starts” or “the beginning of colder weather.” This holiday line of demarcation has lost its significance, and with this loss goes the intended meaning.
When we grieve we also mark times of significance. Since my family and friends are now a few days from Claudia’s second and final celebration of life, I am thinking about some of the “markers” of the life we shared together.
Our first happenstance meet-up in college forty-three years ago (at this very time of year). It was less-than-remarkable for either us, by the way. We remained casual acquaintances in our college years, spent the next ten years single and only rediscovered each other some ten years after college graduation.
The glorious wedding we had twenty-nine years ago this past June, with over three hundred people sweating together in an non-air conditioned sanctuary designed to seat a maximum of 275 people.
The first time a child came toddling into our lives twenty-nine years ago in October. It was only thirty miles from where I sit this morning when the “magic” of foster care and adoption began in our lives.
The beginning and ending dates of my pastoral appointments over several decades. In my mind I see the sanctuaries, hear the voices and remember the room configurations of homes we shared as a family.
The momentous decision, after prayerful consideration, to leave my home state and move to the mid-Atlantic so Claudia could pursue the next stage of her vocational life. It was nearly a decade of fulfillment for my dear wife, and I am so grateful she had the opportunity to be in leadership in such an impactful way until the very day of her death.
My recent return to Minnesota, selling a house in Virginia and acquiring another in Minnesota, hosting a mini-family reunion shortly after my move, settling into shared community in a new congregation.
So many details, so many beginnings and endings, that coalesce to make me the person I am today, with all of my strengths and all of my weaknesses. It has been a very good life, and I am grateful that I have so many sign-posts along the way to mark the journey.
But here’s the thing. It’s not the places Claudia and I have lived, it’s not the work that we have done, it’s not the places we have visited, that give me a sense of meaning and contentment in my life today.
It’s the people we have known and continue to know that make life meaningful. These human connections are what matter. It’s something Claudia always knew, and it’s the reason she pursued others throughout her life. For my part, I always supported her relational quests, at times humored them, but never really understood their foundational value for my life.
I never really understood until she was no longer a part of my life. Her death and my loss have forever altered my lines of demarcation. When Claudia was our relational cheerleader and coordinator, I could live comfortably within my introverted, boundaried space, knowing that she would bring into our lives all the people I needed to know. In my new world, I realize that if I do not take most of the relational initiative, I will live quite a lonely life.
So as much as I recognize the need for lines of demarcation, I continue on a quest of opening my life to others. Not because I think others need me all that much, but because I realize how much I need them.
Thank you, Claudia, for teaching me what I never thought I needed to know.
A loving tribute to her outgoing personality.
True and well said