What I'm Not Going to Say

When we started planning the memorial service for my son Shane, my daughter asked me if I wanted to get up and give a eulogy. As many of you know, I’m a person who loves to hear himself talk, especially in front of large crowds, but in this case it took me mere nanoseconds to decline. I really have no desire to stand before my loved ones and friends as I cry like a little girl who just had a big dog knock her down and eat the ice cream off her cone.

Streaming tears and shaking shoulder sobs aside, Shane’s life really didn’t deserve silence, so here’s what I’m not going to say about him at the service this afternoon.

{The room is silent. I stand and quietly walk to the podium dressed in tennis shoes, Levis, and a bright orange Broncos jersey donning the number 58. I reach the podium and stare at the crowd until the inactivity grows and the room begins to become uncomfortable and then I speak in a booming voice}

Why all the gloomy faces? My son just died! This isn’t supposed to be a sad time so suck it up, join me, and consider what I just said...

My son, Shane Robert Crawford is dead!

{pause for reflection}

Let’s consider what that means to us and then let’s consider an appropriate reaction based on what Shane would want.

My Grandfather died before Shane was born. One of Shane's grandmothers died while he was still figuring out how to walk and learning that when his parents say “hot” it’s a pretty good idea not to touch it.

Another of his grandmothers died a couple of years ago.

The way I always envisioned it, the order would be his Grandfather Crawford next followed by his Grand Patti and Grand John in no particular order, then his mom as a result of a threat that I would be placed to rest in North Dakota if I dared to go first. Finally after all that was out of the way he would carry on for another 30 or 40 years and THEN it would be his turn.

That’s how it played in my head. That’s how it was supposed to go.

From one perspective, I see Shane’s death as a form of cutting in line. It wasn’t supposed to be his turn and I’m totally weirded out by the concept of him meeting my father at the pearly gates and offering to show dad around. It’s surreal to me that he’s going to understand whether unborn babies, like his sister Stephanie Rae, get a soul and exist in eternity or if God, knowing they won’t make it to term omits the soul. I’ve been wondering about that since before Shane was born and now he gets to know the answer before I do. From the perspective of cutting in line, Shane sort of cheated.

From the other perspective Shane’s early passing is more of who Shane came to be. The product of my greatest desires, the result of his mom’s and my best efforts, so let me tell you about my 40th birthday.

Michelle was planning a surprise party and it was Shane’s job to get me out of the house. He offered a tennis match and I accepted.

As we walked to the courts my mind was overwhelmed with one thought. Not today! Shane and I had been playing tennis for years and this little snot nosed teenager wasn’t going to beat me for the first time THAT day. Not on my 40th birthday. I just couldn’t let that happen.

I’m proud to report that I beat Shane is straight sets. 6-1, 6-3. I let NOTHING go. If I had to dive for a shot and destroy an elbow, so be it. I wasn’t going to lose for the first time. Not on that day. Shane begged for a third set. “Just for fun” he said as I wheezed and choked down big gulps of air. I refused, we got back earlier than planned, the surprise was ruined and I suppose Shane failed in his mission.

I’m pretty sure that was the last time I ever beat Shane at tennis and as he progressed from snot nosed teen to young adult he methodically checked off victory after victory as he whittled away at all of the things I did better than him.

I suppose beating me at sports is no surprise. He was younger and faster so when he took a disc golf match or slammed a basketball jumper back into my face it was to be expected. Every time he beat me I was glad. It was my job to make him better than I was.

One day Shane came to visit, took a look at the bridge between my LAN and my WiFi, then sat me down and said “Dad, you’re really not technical anymore. You still think you are, but if it’s OK with you I want to reconfigure your DHCP server and security and make it better.

That was a little harder for me but upon reflection, this too was a blessing. My boy was better, he was beating me and that was how things should be.

The last time I remember watching my son and realizing he had bested me once again was when I watched his interaction with my grandson. Devin was the world to Shane and Shane’s devotion to his son and wife was second to none. I found myself realizing Shane was coming out of the gate as a better father and husband than I had been. Unlike the other times when there was a twinge of pain in the defeat followed by joy in seeing what my little boy had become, seeing Shane spend time with Devin was nothing but pure joy for me. His mom and I did a great job on the foundation then God and Cassandra were molding him into something amazing.

So here we are, sitting in this church feeling stunned and confused. At the tender age of 30, Shane is dead and gone.

It’s surreal.

Shane’s cancer and his death put my head in a fog and I struggled with the simplest thoughts, but as my mind clears I realize he’s done it again. This wasn’t a cut in line, it was Shane beating me yet another time. This time he has beat me to the ultimate prize and if I think about it, REALLY think about it, this is like seeing him with Devin. His arriving at the finish line first, getting there before his remaining grandparents, getting there before his mom and me, this isn’t a thing that is sad. This is a thing to be celebrated and talked about for years to come.

So I ask you again. Why all the gloomy faces? My son just died! This isn’t supposed to be a sad time so suck it up, join me, and consider what I just said. My son, Shane Robert Crawford is dead!

Let’s celebrate his life, and as my friend Chris Ifland said, let’s celebrate it well.