Lunch with friends

I recently did a little experiment after waking up thinking about the people I miss, wishing desperately we could have one more conversation, and one more meal together. I gathered a few of my mini-urns and containers of ashes, those belonging to the people I have said goodbye to over the last few years, and I brought them to lunch with me. I placed them on the table, I ordered a coffee and I sat there waiting to see what would happen. Within about 20 minutes, people stopped and ask about them. When they did, I simply said, “I wanted to bring my friends to lunch.”

I explained that we often stop saying their names, and stop saving them a seat at the table, when they have died. I want to change that. I am not suggesting that everyone needs to bring urns to lunch, but for me, it felt right. What surprised and moved me most were the stories that followed. Strangers began sharing about their own people, the ones they have had to say goodbye to, but still miss and love deeply. Some said they stopped talking about them, fearing it would make people uncomfortable. Others said they didn’t even have a place to visit their person. By the end of each conversation, almost every one of them thanked me for bringing my friends to lunch, because it reminded them that they could, in their own way, do the same.

One man even sat down with me and asked for each of their names. When I told him about my brother, he began to cry, his brother had died too. We shared stories, grief, laughter, and a few quiet tears. Before he left, he told me he was going to bring his brother to dinner that night.

I think it is time we become more comfortable talking about those who have died, saying their names, telling their stories, and sharing their lives with others. Because if we don’t tell their story, no one else will. My fear is that one day their story will stop being told. I had beautiful friends and a good brother, despite our distance over time. He was a good man. I want to tell his story, and I have now learned that people really do want to hear it.

I didn't have ashes for my sister, my sons father, or my parents but I told their story too, and I said their names... all of their names.

Bringing the urns and ashes to a public place and setting them on the table as if they were guests invited to lunch is not something most people would do, I understand that. But I wanted to see what might happen if I did. I wondered if it might stir something in others, maybe even invite them to revisit their own memories, to say aloud the names of those they still love, and to open the door to conversation.

As people passed by, curiosity turned into connection. One by one, they began to share stories about their people, and I shared stories about mine. For two hours, I sat surrounded by love, by the quiet presence of those whose ashes I carried and by the living souls who stopped to listen, remember, and speak.

When I finally gathered everything up to leave, I felt something I hadn’t expected: joy. Joy for having spoken their names, for having brought their memory to the table, and for reminding others that they can do the same. This experiment turned out to be one of the most meaningful lunches I have ever had.

xo

Gabby