Three Large Holes

I lost someone this past year. In fact, I lost three someones: two male cousins, and a man I once called Dad (not my own father). I have lost them to death.

Terry and Sam were my age (last names omitted for privacy's sake). Actually, I was born in between the two. We grew up together—we went to school together, played with and fought each other. We were more like brothers and sister than cousins. As we grew older, life's decisions and acreage came between us. I live in North Carolina, Terry died in Ohio, and Sam in Kentucky. They were the first of my generation, on Mom's side of the family, to die.

Terry, the sixth of my Aunt Betty's nine children, passed first. He was a truck driver, a divorced father...and a drug addict. After years of liver disease and dialysis, he died alone in a cold motel room. My cousin Sam died just a few months ago. After quitting his coal mining job, gambling away his money, and bingeing on drugs (God knows how many days), he drove home and shot himself in the head—in his own front yard—his horrified wife and children watching. Sam was the third of six kids, the son of my mom's brother, Don.

Kenny was my most recent someone to die. A fatal heart attack took his life barely a week ago. Nineteen when I first met Kenny, I adored him at once. When I visited him and his wife in New Mexico, he took me rabbit hunting. Probably his worst hunting day ever, he tried (in vain) to teach me how to shoot. Kenny also loved fishing, boating, weightlifting, his truck, his motorcycle...and the list goes on. Kenny lived large, and loved his family. And I'm glad to say, Kenny knew the Lord Jesus Christ as his Savior.

The loss of these three men brings into focus what life's cares once eclipsed—my nuclear family and my dear friends are important to me—and they will not be around forever. The song, Abraham, Martin And John, says it best, "You know, I just looked around and [they're] gone."

There are three large holes, now, in the fabric of my life—they wore through when I wasn't looking. Terry and Sam had tragic lives and deaths, more like burnt holes in blankets, that can never be mended. I miss them. And, I will miss Kenny.

Lord, mend my tattered heart.