I need to tell you a question…I’ve heard those words from Becky more times than I could ever begin to count. She knew a question was supposed to be asked but where would the fun be in that. It was her unique way of letting me know that there was something we needed to discuss. It was usually a question…sometimes a bit of information that I didn’t have but…always special.

It’s taken me 28 days to get myself to a place where I feel like I can put into words what the last few weeks have been like. They have not been fun. The dynamic between myself and Becky is a bit difficult to explain. She was not my mother but she filled that role to the best that anyone else on this earth could have, especially since my Mom died 11 years ago.

Becky and I were always close, as far back as I can remember. To be honest, I’m not sure why. It just kinda happened. One of my most cherished possessions is an old home video, Thanksgiving 1987 to be exact. On that video, you can clearly see the bond that she and I shared as I walked up to her, put my arms around her, and she then embraced me. The running joke between her and my Mom, LaRue, was that I was Becky’s son too. I was good with that.

Anyone who knew Becky knew of her talent to play the piano and sing. This is not a familial endorsement. She could sing. If you don’t believe me, ask anyone affiliated with the Church of God in South Georgia for a substantial amount of time and they’ll tell you, not only of her talent, but of the anointing of the Holy Spirit that rested on her as she sang, “I Claim The Blood,” “That Same Spirit,” or “I Want To See Jesus.” Maybe that’s where things started. I loved music and so did she. We just hit it off…from the beginning.

I remember spending a great deal of time with my Mom and her family when I was too young to go with my Dad to broadcast high school and college sporting events. Those times solidified a bond that’s present even today. I remember waking up on a Saturday morning, me and Mom picking up doughnuts and hearing her call Becky and simply say, “Beck, we’re on our way with doughnuts. Put the coffee on.” Those Saturdays were special to me. They still are. Now, I’ve got to find a way to move forward knowing that most of the people who were present during those times and a million other times I don’t have time to share with you are now gone. There are a few family members left on that side of the family but not many…not near as many as there was in the beginning. That’s what hurts so bad. I feel like the family I began my life surrounded by are, for the most part, gone.

I’m 42 years old and, in that short span of time, I’ve had what I believe to be more than my share of loss. I remember speaking with my grandfather, Gene DeLoach, in the hospital not long before he passed. I was there when my great-grandmother, Adell Carter, passed in the early morning hours of February, 2001. I remember visiting my Uncle Barry in the hospital not long before he died. I remember praying with my grandmother, Hazel DeLoach, not long before she passed from this life into eternity just this past February. I remember the loss of my mother’s youngest brother Ronald. He passed from colon cancer at the age of 32. I was 9. I remember losing my mother’s oldest sister Uretha at the 51. Four years later, we lost my grandmother, Loney. Five years later, we lost my grandfather, F. J Barfield. Nine months later, we lost my Mom. Just this past May, we lost my mother’s oldest sister, Judy. Now, Becky is gone and my heart is shattered. Not only did I lose her but I lost the last piece of a core that was there every time I turned around as a child. A few weeks ago, I had a sobering moment. My sister looked at me and simply said, “We’re the grown ups now.” While this statement is certainly true, it reminds me that I now live in a world without them and that’s not something I ever wanted to do.

I learned to play the piano, in part, by watching Becky. I learned that cooking and good food brings joy into the lives of those you love from Becky. I learned about the importance of laughter from Becky. I learned the significance of humility and modesty from Becky. I learned the power of love and genuine concern for others from Becky. And, while my parents taught me all these things as well, Becky was also a large part of those principles coming to fruition in my life.

My phone hasn’t rang near as much in the last 28 days. I miss her calls. I miss her laugh. I miss her quips. I miss her. As hard as the last few weeks have been, I know in my heart that the days ahead will be even harder. Her birthday is coming up…October 10. She would have been 69. Thanksgiving will follow and so will Christmas and then the cold, rainy, lonely days of January will come right after. This is what true grief feels like. This is what it feels like to miss someone so much and not be able to change a thing.

But my goal is not to depress you today. My objective is to encourage you to reach out to someone today. Only you know who it needs to be. Life is short and the petty things we allow to come between us and the people we love don’t matter…not really. All we have in this life and on this earth is each other. That’s why it’s so important to pick up the phone and ask, “How is your day going? Do you know how much I love you?” Because when that person that means so much to you is gone, you’ll wonder, “Did I do enough? Did I say the right things that let her know how important she was to me?” That’s what matters. That’s what’s important.

I took a trip over to Vidalia yesterday and visited my Mom’s oldest brother, Johnny. We sat in his barber shop, got our haircut and we talked. Because of ministry and the calling on our lives, it’s not always been easy to get to his barber shop, but we made an extra effort today. I baked him a pound cake like Becky baked or as close as I could get to it. I took him a book about heaven that was a significant encouragement to me when Mom died. We talked and we laughed. It was a good day.

That’s what we have to do. We have to rise above the inconveniences and the pull of everyday life and make time to check on those we love, spend time with them, talk with them, listen to them. Life is short and we must make the most of each day to let those we love know just how much. I’m thankful for heaven and I know the ones I’ve already mentioned in this article are there today. I’m thankful I’ll see them all again one day. Nothing is more precious or more important than that. But the life we live on earth is all we have until we’re promoted to another world. All we have is each other until we see His face in person.

I didn’t make it to the hospital before Becky saw Jesus. But I have peace in my heart to know that, while I wasn’t perfect, I’m confident that I loved her and served her well. And, even in the midst of heart-paralyzing grief, I’ve been encouraged when I think about the fact that, yes, I’m sure she knew how much I loved her and still do. She knew because I told her. She knew because I showed her. So, as she would say, “Let me tell you a question,” who do you need to reach out to today?