apple juice

it was a really hard weekend. but in the end, it was good. liz deserved two big memorial services. her life and legacy live on in so many people. the memorial service was overwhelming. so many times i almost had it together only to lose it. matt asked me to tell my story about the supernova again. i felt honored to be able to share it again to so many people. it was hard getting up there. i started with a story about the weather:

every time matt and liz came home, we would bug them about moving back. but the weather is so nice in LA, they would say. after spending a few days out there, it’s pretty hard to disagree with that. and so for the memorial service on April 26th, a date and time that should be well into spring temperatures around here, we had snow. yep snow. i think liz was up in heaven somewhere laughing at us all.

the star tribune heard about matt‘s story and wrote about it: Without Liz, but not alone

this morning, after going to church, and having breakfast with my family, i finally was able to take a nap, and really sleep. i don’t think i’ve slept that well in about a month.

liz’s story continues on in my mind and in reminders that i see everywhere. matt came over yesterday after the service and sat down on our couch. the last time they were here was when they told us about their pregnancy. what’s new with you guys, they said as they came in and sat down on that chilly day. not too much, we replied, what’s new with you? we were hoping you’d ask us that, they said. big grins spread across their faces.

the sadness that remains in those memories turns to joy though as i think about all of the things we will experience in the future with matt and madeline. so much to look forward to, and so many happy stories to share with each other when we look back.

On Tuesday, March 25th, we lost a dear friend in Liz Logelin.

I have been struggling trying to understand or explain or even fathom how this could happen. We had a celebration of Liz on Saturday in LA, overflowing with people and stories, grief and sadness, memories, laughter and smiles.

Matt let us know in advance that the service would be a little bit different than most, and that there would be a chance to speak if we wanted to share anything about Liz. I got up to speak, and I told this story about a supernova:

There are billions upon billions of stars in the night sky, and most of those stars, when they die, slowly fade away and go dark. What’s left is a hunk of rock is that floats around without much notice from anyone.

But sometimes, under just the right conditions, when the star is just the right size, gives off a certain amount of light and has just the right energy, if that star has all the special qualities, something completely different happens.

These stars become supernovas. The star explodes into a beautiful display of light and color and energy, heading off in every direction. They are the most beautiful things to see with a telescope in the sky, and the memory of that star is left for all to see and marvel at.

The supernova is lit not just from itself, but also from all of the stars nearby, shining through and illuminating it.

We will remember Liz for her incredible light and energy and love that she gave to all around her.