A Memorial to Charles Criniere.

Less than three hours after it happened, I heard the news, and I couldn’t figure out what to do with it. My brain resisted and could hardly contain the notion that someone I had known for years was gone. I would never be able to speak to them again in this lifetime. I went through most of that day without purpose, my mind slowly grinding to a halt as the reality began to sink in. It took me weeks to reach a point of acceptance of what had happened, but I was at a total loss that day. He was the last person I would have ever imagined this would happen to, and yet it had. Eventually, my thinking became so congested and clouded that I had to stop and sort it all out. I didn’t know where to begin or how to express what had just taken place. After a few minutes of staring into space at my desk, I began to write. This is what came forth that day…

Life is like a big musical — we are introduced into the story when we enter the world, and every moment of our lives is on display for God and the angels to see. We meet friends with whom we sing, act, and dance with—all the while feeling our own pains, losses and emotions along the way. We see each other in and out of scenes, and it is such a blast to be alive. There are no rehearsals — each moment is new and fresh, legitimately happening for the first time; not a moment is to be wasted. We run alongside each other and become as close as we can because the reality is, we don’t know when our final lines will come and we’ll leave everything behind, heading to the wings and backstage.

Walking past those working behind the scenes on our behalf, you are congratulated by them and those who have gone before you on how you performed and what you chose to do with the time that was given to you. You enter the backstage greenroom, and the rest of the cast explodes with excitement because they know how you played your part well in the story. You sit back and relax, relating stories of your adventures: all the surprises along the way that were delightful, and the more embarrassing ones—such as when you forgot your lines or when both your costume and the set began to fall apart; how awkward you were when that girl first walked onstage, and the joy of your children being added in to the story, which brought your character a whole new meaning and calling in life. Stories aside, you begin to watch with excitement as your grandchildren and their children take center stage. This is History that you’re watching — His Story – and the plot never becomes dull. You watch your friends’ offspring, as well as your own, as they fight challenges and struggles of their own, praying for strength that they will make it through, and are amazed at how the renowned characters of old are so impressed by the roles played by you and your family.

Finally, the greenroom becomes full as you are surrounded by those you have so desperately wanted to see again and no one can contain themselves any longer. The refreshments table in the back of the room is still full, but nobody pays it any mind: the ultimate battle between Good and Evil has begun. Everyone prepares for the final moment when victory is declared, rushing from the wings for the final curtain call — each one wearing the dazzling white costume they earned from their performance onstage. Those left standing receive a standing ovation as they take their bow in their newly acquired costumes, and the Front House is transformed into a full reception hall. The room becomes silent and still as the real Hero of the story walks in with the Master Writer and Director, and at their signal, all creation erupts into a joyous chorus of singing and dancing – full life, being fully alive, and never ending.

The Curtain has closed; the Heavens have opened. The story has come to an end.

A new one has begun.

In the end, this leaves me with a question that I ask you today:

The reality is, tomorrow is not promised to you. How will you live today?

Written on August 27th in honor of Charles D. Criniere (October 17th, 1978 – August 27th, 2022)