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Honoring Life

It’s been roughly a year since my awesome and amazing cousin passed away. She was 26 years old and though she fought a hard battle against cancer, she eventually succumbed to the disease, mere months after her wedding. Months after a day that typically marks “the beginning,” she met her end.

A pilot in the US Air Force, Jahna had been a powerful force to be reckoned with most of her young life. I didn’t have a chance to know her as well as I would have liked due to both our age difference and our geographic distance. I felt blessed to reconnect with her at her wedding in September 2008. Athletic. Intelligent. Funny. Beautiful. Strong. Those words arguably don’t give her justice, but they are certainly among the top adjectives that would describe her. One thing that is unarguable is her passion and love for the Air Force.

She passed away last April and had a full-military funeral in her hometown of Allentown, PA. It just so happened that my grandmother’s funeral was the same day on the other side of the country in Salem, OR. Attending my grandmother’s funeral, I was struck by the juxtaposition of honoring a life long-lived and arguably “ready” to go home with my cousin’s young life that was being honored for all that she was, as well as all that she might have been.

In an exercise of profound understatement, Jahna’s death was not fair.

But that doesn’t mean it has to be in vain. It doesn’t mean her impact on the lives she touched in her short time on this earth is any less meaningful or important.

All of this came top of mind to me yesterday as I had the opportunity to share a table with four young women from the US Air Force at a sushi restaurant in Portland. I’m here for a week of meetings with the Pacific Fishery Management Council so it seemed more than a coincidence that I might saddle up against these fine women so close to the anniversary of my cousin’s passing.

I shared some thoughts about Jahna, her love of the Air Force, how well the Air Force took care of her and her family during her illness, along with the simple joy of a warm spring day. It seemed only fitting that I pick up their tab in Jahna’s honor and in thanks for their dedicated service.

In the grand scope of things, lunch isn’t all that significant. But what is significant is the fact that Jahna’s legacy continues to touch lives. That for a moment, she was very much a part of this world as she looks down from hers above. And in that moment it struck me that it means something to remember your loved ones with simple acts. To keep their stories alive.

Speaking now from experience, I hope those reading this blog post today will think of a way to honor someone who meant something to them. Was your dear uncle an animal lover? Donate to a local shelter in his name. Was your best friend a soccer fanatic? Maybe you could volunteer with a local kids soccer club. I hate to put it in such hokey terms as “paying it forward,” so simply trust me when I say you won’t regret finding a way to positively honor and remember loved ones who have passed.

I will never be able to make sense of Jahna’s death. I will never fully appreciate the impact of her death upon her husband, her mother, her father, her sister. But perhaps that’s not the way to think of it. Perhaps instead of thinking about her death, it’s more appropriate and more honorable to think about her life. And in doing so, if just for a moment, infuse that life into the lives of others who may never have had the honor of knowing her.

With that, I hope that you walk through this day with thanksgiving for the time you have with those you love and an eye toward opportunities not to commemorate a death, but to honor a life that has touched you.