January 4, 2012

What We Leave Behind

I pull out my diocesan credit card and survey the moving boxes. As I slide the card to the salesman, I'm distracted, calculating how many boxes I might need for my office.

The salesman looks closely at the card. You have the same name as Bishop Thompson’s wife.

I whip my head around. The salesman is talking about the former diocesan bishop of Southern Ohio, my boss for four years before he retired in 2005. He died suddenly less than a year later.

You knew Bishop Thompson, I ask.

He was a customer here, says the salesman, who not only rents moving trucks and boxes but also runs a storage unit business. Bishop Thompson was a good friend. A great man, he says. 

The salesman – his name is Bill, we learn as we shake hands – walks to his filing cabinet. I still have the newspaper articles from when the bishop retired. 

Bill pulls out a tattered file and thumbs through it. Here, he says. I like to go back and re-read this. It reminds me of what’s right, of what’s important. 

I look at my husband and smile. 

When Bishop Thompson entered a room, he always seemed the tallest man there, even though he was only a few inches taller than me. His gift of presence was the stuff of legends – and sometimes the root of frustration for staffers who struggled to keep him on time. No matter who he was with, Bishop Thompson gave the person the same respect and attention as he did when he met with U.S. presidents and the Queen of England. One (true) story recalls how he missed the limo ride from the airport with the Archbishop of Canterbury because the bishop was talking with one of the baggage loaders. 

So it was no surprise, in a way, that the bishop had connected with Bill. I can imagine Bishop Thompson swinging by to pick up Christmas decorations from the storage unit, and instead sitting down to talk with this salesman for hours, while his wife, Russelle, waited at home – or his desperate communications officer pleaded for a newspaper column. 

As I’m packing up and moving from one home to another, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about transitions. 

Years after his death, Bishop Thompson still teaches me. Am I living my life in a way that changes others? Do I take the time to be truly present – with my family and friends as well as the stranger? Am I a witness of a living faith that people will talk about long after I’m gone? 

What will I leave behind?