The Memory Sphere

Jeffrey Balaam 

February 14, 1971 - January 18, 2018

Let’s do this, we said. Let’s say goodbye to our friend. 

And then one by one we each stood up and addressed the crowd. Nothing prepares you for this.  It’s surreal and yet oddly natural. So this is how it will all go down.

I started my eulogy in the most ordinary of ways. I simply introduced myself.  

My name is Teresa, as I pointed to a collage of photos taken of our friend-group over the past 25 years. As luck would have it, in the summer of 1994, I was a college student who found herself back at home with A LOT of time on her hands.  Who knew then that - Jeff, Chris, Larry, Melinda, Jill and I -  were forming a bond of friendship that would endure decades. 

The tears flooded my eyes. The grief strangled my throat. Surely getting up to speak was a mistake. And then SHE swooped in. I knew I could count on her, that inner voice who starts somewhere deep in the ether, well before words, even memory. Like a super hero, SHE single handedly staunched the tears and wrestled the knot out of my throat as SHE found her voice through me.

SHE confidently went on...

So as you might imagine, when the invitation was sent around to tell a fun story about Jeff, after all those years, we have a significant amount of material to pull from.  I marinated on story after story and could not settle on just one.  The process did however get me thinking. What exactly was it about Jeff that kept us coming back, year after year, wanting to keep him in our lives?  

The first sentiment that came to mind was ‘safe harbor.’  It’s no wonder I had water on my mind. Jeff’s favorite place by far was Long Beach Island (LBI.)  He often shared how at peace he felt there particularly in the off season.  But by safe harbor, in this context, I meant that you always knew what you were getting with Jeff. No drama. Ever. No fighting. Ever. 

And I trusted him implicitly. He was the character in our collective story who you could count on. You could place your interests in his care and know that it would be a safe exchange. 

As a simple example, over the holidays, just a few weeks back, I had left my purse in his car.  In every text exchange, he reassured me not to worry, Teresa, it’s safe.  When we finally caught up a few days later...after he jokingly questioned why I even carried a purse if I could live three days without it (fair point!) he again reassured me that I had not needed to worry, my purse had been safe.  To which, I responded, “Jeff of course it was  - it was with you.” 

Those would be our last words. Standing in my driveway. No coat. Him holding my purse. On a bitter cold December evening. Funny isn’t it - how mundane moments transform themselves into cherished memories. Indelible reminders of how precious it all is. Time. True Friendship. Especially in this precarious world. And what a back handed gift on a day like today, while we are awash in melancholy, that an urgent surge often rises up from within, pushing us to hurry up, love life more, QUICK, for we just don’t know when tomorrow never comes.

But I digress. The ask today was to tell a few fun stories.

So the one I picked was the annual day trip to Long Beach Island (LBI.) Sometimes it was a group of us, other times it was just me. But always...it went something like this...     

We’d arrive around 10-11 am.  We’d grab a few chairs at the house, walk down to the beach...for 15 minutes...ah well maybe twenty.  And then, it would be time for lunch.  We’d pretend to consider our options... only to pick the same Italian restaurant he had been going to (with many of you) since he was a kid.  We’d sit at the same booth along the back wall and laugh as the wallets were placed onto the middle of the table. He’d peruse the menu. Not sure why.  Because in our circles I’ve only seen him order either the chicken parm or the margheritta pizza. He might even tap the top of the menu and imitate Larry by saying, “Yo, Pascooch, how u doin’, what u havin’?”

And then he would nervously order...especially if the waitress was pretty. We’d joke about ordering coke with no ice...which (as has already been talked about today) Chris ruined for him years ago. We’d then call or text Chris, if he wasn’t there. At some point during the meal he’d smile as he patted his belly and share that he needed to watch his labanz (which if you don’t know, because I didn’t until I looked it up last night, is defined in the urban dictionary as Italian for waistline/stomach.)

We’d head back to the beach, maybe this time for one hour. And then...it would be time to get ice cream. We’d go to the same place and funny (this has already been mentioned today too) he’d always order a black and white milkshake.  

What made the day enjoyable time and again wasn’t just the routine but that without fail Jeff would recount story after story pointing out the humor in ordinary events or our personal quirks —such as Larry’s love of vacuuming. Or Chris and Jeff’s first heavy metal concert where they showed up in what was affectionately referred to as the I love reading mobile. Imagine Chris’s mom’s station wagon with a big ‘I love reading’ bumper sticker plastered on the back and the two of them tailgating in the parking lot eating apples from their brown bag lunches.  

Jeff never forgot a story. Or anything for that matter. And his humor was never mean or sarcastic...but always funny and a perfect reminder to never take ourselves too seriously. 

So on days like today...we can measure a life in years. 

And if that is our measure, then Jeff’s life was far too short for sure.

However...

We can also measure a life in moments. 

Moments that matter. 

Moments that make a difference.

Moments that leave a lasting imprint on the sphere of our hearts.  

If that’s our measure today, then I'd suggest to you Jeff far exceeded an average life expectancy. 

And he is not done yet. 

Because all of us gathered here were given the gift of memory - and it's a gift that keeps on giving.  

While Jeff has gone off to fly the ever expansive friendly skies and we’re left here (truly) heartbroken that he will never again provide us with any new material, I know for certain he will continue to be with us...at events and in conversations both big and small...especially when we retell one of his many stories. 

Godspeed dear friend - you will be missed. 

And with that, poof, SHE was gone. Vanished back into the ether. No sooner did I return to my seat did my eyes swell with tears and my heavy heart once again choked my throat. After the service folks said kind words about how my eulogy made them feel and asked how I got my second wind to brave getting up to speak.  Partly it was the monotone speaker reading definition after definition...after definition of positive personality traits who dulled my emotions (haha) but mostly...it was the mysterious handiwork of GRACE.

P.S. #GRATEFUL. Not, of course, for loosing our dear friend too soon. But rather for all the things that held me as I maneuvered this curve ball which left me staring down the barrel of my own mortality, shocking me into the realization that this thing can (and does) go off at any moment, without discrimination or consent. I found myself immensely grateful for the physical practices that keep me strong, the communities of people who unknowingly buoy me simply by showing up and most of all for the yoga philosophers and meditators who plant the seeds (bijas) and bequeath the tools which keep the channel open so that, when needed most, just the right words may find their way to a sleepy little river town in Yardley PA where a small crowd gathers to say goodbye to their friend.  #HERWORDSAREMYWORDSPLUS1 #SHEBREATHESUSUNTILSHEISDONE #LOVEYOURLIFE #WHENINDOUBTJUSTSHOWUP #WENEEDEACHOTHER #ILOVEYOGA #WEREALLJUSTWALKINGEACHOTHERHOME