I met Ben when I was 19 years old. He was marrying one of my dad’s hired hands, a girl who was an extremely close member of our family. Ben was loud. Really loud. Like he could drown out an airplane during take-off sort of loud. And he loved to laugh and joke. Within 2 minutes of meeting me he was already cracking wise about my truck. I drove a big red truck and he loved to comment on how hilarious I looked- a little blonde who’s head barely cleared the dashboard, wearing high heels driving the biggest, reddest truck ever. It looked less like a truck and more like a steamroller, painted fire engine red. He was completely convinced that you could see two things from outer space: The Great Wall of China and my big, red truck. And although I would stomp my foot and tell him that you couldn’t really see The Great Wall of China from space- that it was a myth, he would always smile and reply with ” Okay, so it’s just your truck then” and smile a great expanse of perfect white teeth.

He was the only guy I knew who grew his hair out thisclose to a mullet and still managed to look cute. A feat that I can’t imagine anyone else attempting, but something that he did that didn’t surprise me at all. It wasn’t that he was going for the mullet look, he just never went into the city to get it cut. He was much more at home on the farm, he looked happiest there. At their wedding, I played bartender and although I tried to push the drinks on him, he refused. He said he didn’t want to forget a single moment of the night. He said this as he scanned the crowd for his new wife and smiled. Then he told me I should drink my fill though, ‘academics‘ (as he often teased me I was) were better dancers after a few drinks then he winked and went to dance with his bride. I shook my head and laughed, but secretly knew it was true (at least in my case it was).

Years went by. I heard he was well, that he and his wife had started trying to have a baby this year- a mini addition to their family was what he always wanted. I was happy for him. I thought about calling to see how they were but never found the time. This fall I got a new car and put my big, old, red truck to rest. I thought of him and the face he would make when he saw me getting out of something that wouldn’t be seen from outer space. The jokes would be harder to come by, but I had no doubt he would make them, he would find them. Because that’s what he was good at, finding the funny in any situation, at making people laugh when they didn’t think there was something to laugh about.

He’s dead.

He died on Friday. Spending a few extra minutes with his wife, made him late for work. He did what we’ve all done before, sacrificed driving time to spend more time with that one person you can’t seem to let go of on a cold morning. When he did let her go, he climbed into his truck, started driving to work and ran a stop sign. He truck was hit by another vehicle and he died.

He’s dead.

I think of all the times I had him and his wife in my head and almost called but life squeezed in and I put the phone down. I think of the times their names ran through my head before I scurried on to another thought that was more pressing. I think of all the times I said to myself “I’ll call tomorrow” and never did. Because I couldn’t find the time. This week I will have the time, I will finally make the time- to tell him about my ‘academic life‘, to reaffirm that you can’t see The Great Wall from space, to tell him about my car. I’m devastated that it took his funeral for me to find a moment to share my life with him. I’m sad that I will be telling him things I want to through a prayer- in a tiny Church that will be crowded with loss and too many regrets.

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