Rev. Keith Fallis shares his memories of his friends and coworkers in this story, written on 10/13/2026.

My flashlight guides me. The beam only goes so far; I can’t see the end of the journey.

As the light shines across the journey, I see the universe’s great expanse ahead of me. It also helps me see the people who I’ve loved and lost along the way.

No one is given a map or an itinerary for this journey. At birth, we aren’t given instructions on how long our journey will last. It won’t tell me about my mistakes or how many broken hearts I will have because of various relationships.

I might find myself stranded. Not because I lack transportation, but because I lack a sense of direction. There are times when I am emotionally dropped off somewhere and asked to get moving to find the place I am supposed to be.

I know some people plan every detail of their journey. I know they make a packing list, knowing which outfit is for which event. I know people plan their journey around rest stops, hotels, and restaurants.

Here I am just doing my best not to get lost, pretending that I am on a scenic route.

Throughout my years, I learned that not knowing is scary. We don’t know how long we will have or who we will love.

We won’t know who we will meet and become friends with. We will never know how much they mean to us on our journey. We will never realize in the moment how much they mean to us or how precious our time with them is. Then, in those final days, we will regret the things we didn’t do with them.

I say this often; among the people I spend a great deal of time with. We are built for community. We were meant to have deep and dear friends to share what matters to us. These moments are fleeting. I have learned that each moment will never repeat itself. When we realize how enjoyable a moment was, we can’t often repeat it.

Over the years, I have come to realize that so many feel that they are walking alone in the world. I know that is not true. People walk with us, either physically or spiritually.

I think about the friend who came over last night. I think about how we said goodbye around 2:20 a.m. I think about the friends I visited in the hospital. I think about the friends or acquaintances I didn’t visit while they were in the hospital.

I think about the friends I talked to on the phone. I think of all the people I worked with and how they showed me how to live.

Companions.

I think of the people willing to carry our heavy baggage when we are down or tired. Those who lift our spirits with good and bad jokes. I think about the shenanigans we accomplished at work.

Companions on our journey.

These companions will watch us stumble, or you when you make a wrong turn in life. These companions will sit beside you as you cry, not because you’re hurt, but because you opened your mouth to say something stupid at the wrong time.

There is a little secret we won’t admit to others. The secret is that the best stories, the best journeys, and life’s horrible mistakes aren’t on the road, but when time sits still. When you are just being, instead of trying to get somewhere. It happens while our companions sit at a table, sometimes in silence, sometimes telling jokes or stories.

I will always remember gathering for breakfast many mornings. I will always remember standing in the road, wondering if we’d get hit doing what we do. It was knowing that someone had our backs, screaming for an ICE CREAM truck if we needed one. I will remember the Black Betty dance, and the words of the day. I remember the smiley face on the big toe and the giggidy. I will remember the napkin drawings that made fun of everyone of us.

Then there comes a part of the journey that none of us wish upon anyone. Someone we love reaches the end of their road before we do. It has happened more than once. It is happening now.

Grief can scream at us, or it can be a quiet pain within us. There is nothing wrong with grief; it is a sign of love. Grief is love with nowhere to go for a while. Sometimes, it hangs with us longer than we wish. Grief swells in our chest and rolls down our cheeks. Grief can feel like the enemy of life when you really don’t want it to visit.

Don’t be afraid to laugh. Laughter is a coping mechanism that so many don’t understand. They will chastise you for laughing at the most inappropriate moment. But it’s good to laugh. It releases hormones that allow you to place your grief in a place of comfort. So when the grief ambushes you, laugh. Laughter isn’t a betrayal of the friendship you had, but a recognition that you shared the funniest moments, bad jokes, and horrible sarcastic responses.

Know that people walking beside you will want to share their grief stories with you. They will share imperfect words, horrible analogies, and claim they understand where you are at. They don’t realize we all experience grief differently. Your role in that moment is to give them grace; they are trying to make you feel good about your situation, trying in their awkward way to let you know everything will be okay. In that moment, you will experience the hardest emotion, wanting to slap the crap out of them, but resist the urge and allow them grace, for they are grieving too. You just reminded them of the grief they are still processing.

Over the years, sitting with families during this most vulnerable time, I have learned that presence is the best gift you can offer. Silence is truly golden. When a grieving person wants to talk, they will speak. Let them flow, and keep your mouth shut, especially when you are thinking, “What do I say?”

This is when the new journey begins. Walking on the longest road you have ever seen. You have no idea where you will find yourself; be okay with it. Even if you feel stuck in a revolving door.

Those are the times when you can say, “Remember when….”

Tell the stories, keep the memories alive; the destination will feel special.

People will come and go in your life, but the memories will stay with you forever.

Godspeed, my friend; your new journey will begin soon. May you embrace what I can’t see, but believe with all my heart.