“Lives are like rivers: eventually they go where they must. Not where we want them to.”
-RICHARD RUSSO
I’m really glad I went to the funeral.
Last week, we talked about first jobs. Then, a few days later, I found myself sitting in a pew saying goodbye to a man who gave me one of mine.
One of my first jobs was at Swan Serv-U Pharmacy, a neighborhood place near our house. I did a little bit of everything: stocked the coolers with soda, beer, milk and ice cream; hauled inventory up from the basement; kept the shelves filled, especially the candy for kids - Lemonheads, Alexander the Grapes and those 10 cent Now and Laters. I even used to hide a pack of cigarettes for a parish priest who’d come by once a week to sneak a smoke. It was simple, fun work, but it felt big to me
I kept the job through my time at Marquette, taking the bus back once a week for a short shift and a little extra money. What I didn’t realize then was how much that place was teaching me about community.
Now, this was before Walgreens and CVS stood on nearly every corner. The independent pharmacy is different. And, the owners were competitors, and anchored in service. The pharmacists knew your name, asked about your parents, knew your story. It was commerce, sure, but it was also connection.
Rob, the owner, was at the center of it.
He was a Wisconsin grad; I’m a Marquette guy. For more than 30 years, we had a running bet on the Marquette–Wisconsin game. Sometimes we settled up, sometimes we let it ride. One year, I realized I was behind and just dropped off a case of beer to call it even. It became our thing.
We stayed in touch mostly over email as the years went on.
Then his daughter reached out early this year—on the day of the Marquette–Wisconsin game. Oddly, almost unbelievably, that was the day he died. Given our long-running rivalry around that exact matchup, it more than made me pause.
The funeral was last week.
It would’ve been easy not to go. Busy week. A lot happening with work, family, everything. Truth, it had been years since I’d seen Rob or his family. But I went.
And standing there with his family, his business partners and some friends hearing the stories, remembering that little pharmacy and all the people it served—it mattered. More than I expected.
It reminded me of something simple that I’m trying to live by as I get older:
Go to the funeral.
Even if it’s inconvenient. Especially if it’s inconvenient. It’s a pause you need. It’s one that there for a reason. For the person who passed on and for you. Show up for the people who quietly shaped your life - bosses, friends, mentors, neighbors, the ones who gave you a shot or some inspiration when you needed it.
You don’t always get another chance. I’m grateful I took this one.