When a Childhood Friend Leaves Us Too Soon: A Lesson in Connection

There’s something surreal about attending the memorial of a childhood friend. The person you once shared graham crackers and milk with, the one who made you laugh until your sides hurt, is suddenly gone. Too soon. Always too soon.

Erica and I at the all boys party- David in orange and yellow striped Izod (on trend for the 80's!)

The Post We Never Want to Read

I recently received news that my childhood friend David had passed away — just one day after his 50th birthday. A stroke at work, medical complications, and just like that, a bright light in so many lives was extinguished. The news hit like a physical blow, that peculiar kind of pain that comes with losing someone who knew you when you were still becoming yourself.

Why We Must Show Up

Despite the heartache, I knew I had to attend his memorial service. There’s a profound truth I’ve learned through life’s losses: showing up for the living is just as important as honoring the deceased. And I’m infinitely grateful I did.

Time’s Gentle March

Walking into the service was like stepping through a time capsule. There was Joseph — Joey — or Joe now, as adults often shed their childhood nicknames — with his partner and their beautiful two-year-old daughter.

Joe and I

Erica, all grown up and gorgeous. Stunning Trina with her equally stunning teenage daughter Clementine (sporting that quintessential eighth-grade scowl that made us all smile knowingly.)

Trina’s forever glamorous sister Isa and their super cute parents (Jeez this family got the genes!) Romeo, the child King of Kings and remembering our envy of all his fun techie toys from the 80’s. Familiar faces marked by time but still carrying echoes of the children we once were.

The Threads That Bind Us

What struck me most was how certain memories remained crystal clear for everyone. The gate between our houses — a simple structure that became a portal to countless adventures. (Thank you, Dad.)

The pool where summer days stretched endlessly (pretty sure my Mom had to call off the ruckus countless times or they would have stretched into the night.)

Those shared snacks that became ritual: of course, graham crackers and milk (and yes, there were definitely pudding pops!- Before Bill Cosby was creepy.)

A Richly Lived Life

The service painted a portrait of a man who lived with passion and purpose. David’s deep devotion to his wife and children wasn’t just mentioned — it was woven into every story, every memory shared. His love for them formed the cornerstone of his identity, echoing through each testament offered in his honor.

He was a man of diverse interests and endless curiosity. His foodie adventures became legendary among friends, each meal an opportunity to explore and share joy. Through his camera lens, he captured countless moments of beauty and connection, turning ordinary days into lasting memories.

But above all, it was his unconditional kindness that left an indelible mark on everyone he met. Story after story emphasized this truth — how his gentle spirit touched lives in ways both big and small. His was a kindness that asked nothing in return, a generosity of spirit that made everyone feel seen and valued.

The service itself was a reminder of how people evolve while remaining essentially themselves. David’s intelligence, his deep religious faith, and infectious laugh (at times, a shrill giggle) that everyone remembered, the quirks that made him uniquely him — all celebrated by those who knew him best.

The Gift of Reconnection

Perhaps the most precious gift that emerged from this sad occasion was the opportunity to reconnect. Phone numbers were exchanged, addresses shared, and promises made to keep in touch. In our fast-paced world, it sometimes takes a loss to remind us of what we still have — and what we risk losing if we don’t nurture those connections.

Dear childhood friend, Trina. Wonderful to reconnect with.

Living Fully in the Face of Loss

As I drove home that evening, I found myself reflecting on life’s impermanence. We never know when our time — or that of our loved ones — will come to an end. But perhaps that’s exactly why we must live fully, love deeply, and never take for granted the bonds we forge along the way.

A Call to Action

So here’s my gentle urging to you: Don’t wait for a funeral to reconnect with old friends. Find them on social or google. Send that message. Share those memories.

Because while we can’t stop time’s march forward, we can choose to walk together, supporting each other through life’s joys and sorrows.

Our childhood friends are unique treasures — they knew us in all our awkwardness, were there for all life’s growing pains, and shared memories that help shape who we become.

When we lose one, we lose a piece of our own history. But in coming together to honor their memory, we often find pieces of ourselves we thought were lost to time.

And sometimes, in the midst of saying goodbye, we find new beginnings in old friendships renewed.

. . .

Questions? Comments? Suggestions?

Have you lost someone too soon? Felt helpless with the knowledge of this? Decided to go to a memorial anyway? I’m with you. Let’s chat.

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