Reflections on the value of memory

Ralph Ezovski is no more. The wake, where so many people sometimes waited more than an hour to get inside, is over. The somber funeral service, the touching eulogies, the tradition of military honors and a police honor guard finished, and the gathering of friends at the Legion to tell stories about Ralph has ended.

At each of these moments, we shared our grief and offered each other our support, helping us all get through the trying experience of losing Ralph.

These shared moments filled with tears and laughter, joy and sorrow, and reconnecting with old friends and colleagues all served a great purpose: to honor the memory of our friend.

From the moment we left the gathering at the Legion, our normal rhythm of life began to reassert itself, and the depth of our loss embedded itself in our psyche. As we resume our daily routines, there will inevitably come the time when we will instinctively reach for the phone to call Ralph, drive by the Legion and look for his car, or send a text to his cell to say hi.

But he won’t be there to answer, visit with, or return the hello. Then we will know for sure it is over.

There are five stages of grief: denial, bargaining, depression, anger, and acceptance. Each serves a purpose to let us come to terms—acceptance—of our loss. While every one of us will someday be the one remembered, the stages of grief serve to help those still living get on with life.

And yet, while life will return to normalcy, there will come a time when each of us has a moment where we think Ralph would have loved/hated, agreed/challenged, or enjoyed/despised the experience. And it is then we will face reality.

Believe me, I know him

Joe Broadmeadow

The moments immediately after someone’s passing, when we begin the journey through the stages of grief, are usually filled with others to share the experience. But a week or a month or a year from now, there will be a moment when we forget he has passed and think, “I should give him a call.”

But he won’t be there to answer. That is when those precious memories become so important, for one cannot experience the joys of having such friends in our lives without experiencing their loss. And memories are the reward for friendship.

His voice still echoes in our memory for those who have known Ralph for so many years. Remember that voice when those moments happen. Remember what he would say. Remember the sense of humor.

My friend Kent Harrop wrote a touching piece after Ralph’s funeral. I encourage you to read it if you haven’t had the chance. (https://www.prayandpaddle.org/post/thin-places)

In it, Kent spoke of how the crowd gathered outside the church in the cold gray winter weather and watched the performance of the police and military honors ceremony. When the American flag representing Ralph’s service in the U.S. Army was presented to Debbie, the sun broke through the clouds, bathing us in a brief moment of warmth. Kent and those who commented on the piece saw that as a sign from Ralph. A moment when we were in a “thin place,” as the Irish call it, where we were closer to those on the “other side.”

Perhaps.

But in my mind, if Ralph had the chance— and I can hear Ralph say this in his voice—he would have sent the sun to shine on his family and sent hail and locust to rain on the rest of us. Believe me, I know him. It may be he is just working on it so next time you get caught in the rain you might wonder if it is just a message from “the other side.”

Believe me, I know him.

And I will never forget him.