Forgive me, the holidays are upon us and I have a tendency to get even more reflective at this time of year. Annoyingly so, I think. And it sometimes puts me in an odd mood. On top of that Tina and I went to a celebration of life yesterday for a friend that recently passed away and so it has all stirred up a few things in me.

On a purely practical note, I love the Celebration of Life idea and I’m liking more and more the idea of not rushing to have such events too soon on the heels of a tragedy. This one came a few months after she passed and I imagine it not only took a lot of pressure off her family in the hardest initial weeks but also gave time for everyone who wanted to come to work it into their schedules. It was casual but respectful, at one of her favorite restaurants with lots of photos and food and music and a microphone for friends and family to share their stories.

Not a huge gathering—it’s not like she was famous or a public figure—but there was in my estimation a very healthy number of people in attendance. And perhaps most notably, there were a lot of great stories. Tears, of course, often sadness beyond tears, but also laughter and an outpouring of gratitude. It was a very special gathering because she was a very special person.

Our friend wasn’t a religious person. A powerful spirit to be sure, but not religious. So there wasn’t much talk of her going to a better place or such language that often comes at such times. There was however a remarkable number of comments on how it felt like she was still with us. Maybe that’s because everyone is still in a bit of denial. I’m sure that’s true. Maybe it’s because her passing was still too fresh a wound. Also true. But I couldn’t help thinking there was another reason. Our friend was, in a word, infectious. She spent her life pouring herself into the lives around her. Person after person came to the microphone to tell their favorite stories of her. And after a few I began to realize they weren’t just talking about the past. They were talking about parts of her soul that had taken root in their own and that are still shaping who they are. I realized everyone had brought their own very much living piece of her, and that is why I think everyone felt she was there. Because she was, now distributed into all of these lives.

I’ll confess something to you now. A much younger, more ignorant and more arrogant version of myself once thought he knew exactly what the word afterlife meant, but I don’t anymore. Don’t get me wrong, there are things I very much want to believe about an afterlife. But to say I know, like how I know the sky is blue, well I just don’t. But it feels like what I witnessed yesterday was at least one very real part of what the afterlife means. As our life touches other lives, for good or ill, I think it’s more than just touching. I think in the touching we leave a bit of ourselves there. You could say we deposit a bit of our soul in others and maybe that’s what lives on.

I don’t think you get to choose in whom a part of you goes or what part of you it will be. I’m not even sure that’s up to the other person. But I’m pretty sure it does happen. In fact now that I think about it, all my life I’ve heard people say things like, “I see your father in you,” or, “that’s not you, that’s your mother talking.” Maybe it was. Perhaps somehow when we share ourselves with others we actually are sharing our “selves” with others. I don’t know. I really don’t know how this all works. When this hard drive that I’m speaking to you from right now finally wears out and shuts down I don’t know if I will find a backup copy of myself somewhere in the clouds, but I am newly resolved this holiday season to leave a few more copies of some the most important files on other peoples hard drives.

Perhaps one day after I’m gone one of those people will do or say something and someone else will say, “That’s Dean...