Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Tag Archives: loss


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Remembering a good man

Max Ziegler died June 7th. He was 87 years old. He was also my cousin, someone I feel like I’ve known all my life. We didn’t hang out a lot together, there was an 18 year gap in our ages, and my first hazy memory of him is at his wedding when he married my cousin Carol. I think I was 8.

Carol and Max had three sons, and periodically as we were all growing up they’d come to our house or we’d go to theirs, mostly for holiday meals. But what I remember most about those days when they visited us is while all the adults were talking around the kitchen table, Max was down at the lake with his three boys fishing for sunfish off the shore.

Spending time with his kids was his all time favorite thing to do.

In fact moments like those are the majority of my memories of Max — thoroughly engaged with his children and grandchildren, laughing with friends and family.

He had the biggest smile.

He and I were both branch managers at banks when I was a young adult. He always had a story to tell about life at the bank, but his stories seemed more fun than my experiences. I know now that it wasn’t that our jobs were that different, it’s just that he saw his job as more joyful than I ever imagined mine could be.

That’s how he viewed the world. Joyfully. And he spread it around wherever he went.

He stayed active as a volunteer until almost the end, at Meals on Wheels and at the Kiwanis thrift shop. There’s a whole community he built around sharing his joy and you could see it in the sons and grandchildren that spoke at his funeral, and in the members of his beloved Kiwanis club who also spoke. You saw the joy that was Max in the almost 200 people that packed the funeral home on a Monday afternoon.

And as I left the service I looked up at the electric blue sky filled with puffy white clouds and I smiled. Because I knew Max was smiling too. I’m sure there was a huge crowd up there joyfully welcoming him home.

As they said at the service, the best way we can honor this incredible man is to live our own lives with joy. And to spread it around in a Max-like fashion. One of his youngest granddaughters told us the world would be a better place if it had more Maxes.

So let’s see if we can make that happen, let’s spread the joy just like Max did for all of his 87 years.


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Unexplained

Some twenty years ago my cell phone rang and when I answered it I could hear muffled talking but my sister, who’s phone I was listening to, didn’t respond to my repeated hellos. I had been, as they said back then, butt-called.

Later in the day I talked to my mom, something I didn’t do every day, and she mentioned that she hadn’t heard from my sister in some time. So when I called my sister back to tell her about the butt-call I told her mom would like to hear from her. My sister called mom that evening and they talked. I don’t know about what, most likely just typical daily things, the weather, work, when they might get together. I’m guessing it was a nothing special call.

And then, a few days later, mom died suddenly, and all opportunities for conversation ended.

Last week, on February 25th my cousin, who doesn’t call me very often, called on Facebook messenger. My phone made strange noises and lit up. I don’t know how to answer a Facebook call, and I fumbled around tapping different things trying to respond. At 3:22 messenger said I had “missed audio call” and there was a button that said CALL BACK. I didn’t, but I did message her that I was sorry I missed her call and that I didn’t know how to answer Facebook calls.

About an hour later she called me directly, without the ‘help’ of Facebook, and asked if I had tried to call her. We laughed about who called who and technology being smarter than we were. She said she was in a rehab place, doing physical therapy and getting stronger after a recent hospital stay. She said she was glad to be there, getting better, but she sure wanted to go home.

We talked about what my siblings were doing, and what her grandchildren were doing. We talked about the family Christmas dinner that she hadn’t been strong enough to attend and how much all those people meant to her. And we talked about Christmas Eve when her children and their children gathered at her house and they opened gifts and how wonderful the time together was. It was a nothing special kind of call.

Sunday, March 3rd, just one week after that conversation, my cousin’s daughter let me know her mom had died, unexpectedly, at the hospital where she had gone a couple days before. And I instantly thought about our last phone call. The one that shouldn’t have happened but did because we were, in effect, each butt-called.

I am so grateful for both technical glitches that put me in touch with people I might not have talked to that day. I’m grateful for technology giving us a chance to connect, not knowing it would be our last chance.

And here’s the lesson I learned from all of this — you never know when it’s your last conversation. Each time you say hello and then goodbye is precious, and maybe we shouldn’t wait for technology to do the calling for us. Maybe we should just pick up the phone more often and connect with the people we love.

Godspeed, Joyce Braun. Condolences, hugs and prayers to your children, grandchildren and extended family. We’re all going to miss you so much. And thanks for picking up the phone and calling me. It was always great talking with you.