BILLY

(Many of you know that John's brother Billy recently passed away. Some have asked how it happened, and we haven't been very vocal about it. This has been a difficult week for the whole family, and we've needed some time to process together. John asked me to write something to share with you, so I chose to prepare something to say to the family yesterday at his memorial service and post that for you today. I hope it answers your questions and blesses you in some way. Photo: John's dad, sister Gina, sister Janette, brother Billy, mom, John)

We’ve all come together to honor Billy’s life and to say goodbye. We talked about doing this at a funeral home, but that would seem awkward and out of character for this family. Instead, we’re meeting at the Henson house, where we always get together. Most holidays and special occasions as long as I can remember have been here. We talk and laugh and set out food and play cards and get into heated political discussions. It’s what we do. Then someone asks if Billy’s coming. Nobody ever knows for sure. “He said he would try to stop by later.” Sometimes he does. Usually he doesn’t. I find it fitting that the coroner hasn’t released his ashes and nobody has been able to guess if his remains would be available for this get together today. We’ll just have to do what we always do—talk a little about him and hope to see him soon. I think we will see him soon, not because he was a great person who earned his way into heaven, but because this life is short and Jesus is so very good even when we’re not.

What can we say about Billy that will honor his life today? All I can do is say what I know, which isn’t much, because even after knowing him for a quarter of a century, I hardly knew him at all. What I saw in him was that he was handsome but the lines on his face were too deep for his age. They couldn’t quite swallow up his big warm smile though. He was too skinny for his height, but he was as strong as an ox. His voice was rough and so were his hands. He didn’t keep his word, and he was not dependable. But, he was kind and gentle and never ever harsh. He was always good for a hug and a short, amiable chat. He told me a few times that he was trying hard to clean up his life. That’s where I think he went wrong. He was trying to do the impossible. He wasn’t equipped. His heart was too big and too tender. Maybe that’s why he turned to drugs to make life bearable—until they didn’t.

I’m afraid when people hear that Billy died of an overdose, they’re going to be quick to relegate his death to the dungheap of history where we put the useless and evil people. I’m afraid they’re going to make the mistake of thinking of him as a wasted life. I don’t believe there is such a thing. Billy had a whole family behind him, rooting for him to pull out of his addiction, and that struggle has not been wasted on any of us. It has changed us and, in some cases, brought us closer to God. Billy had parents and siblings and nieces and nephews who wanted him to get better. He even had children who counted on him to be the father they needed him to be. He just couldn’t do it, and I hope one day we’ll remember him for what he did offer and not for what he didn’t.

In the meantime, I hope we’ll all find some closure today and consider the reason we can honor Billy’s life in spite of the fact that it was cut short and never fulfilled the potential we all saw in him. God made Billy and he loved him, and because Billy believed that and was baptized, God has not only forgiven him, but He has made a place for him in heaven. So, our time today to say goodbye and honor his life is really more of a see-you-later because of Jesus. I suggest when we’re finished here, we set out food and play cards, but maybe skip the political discussions. Instead, maybe we could talk about the good things in life and how blessed we are to have each other now and the hope for eternity together in the future. Goodbye, Billy. We’ll stop by later.