It happened thirty nine years ago this Wednesday evening, June 20^th.  I was twelve years old living in Arizona and, with the exception of an elderly gentleman, who I had met once or twice, up to that time, I had never experienced the death of anyone close to me.

When we got the call that my sixteen year old cousin, Eddie Fritts, had drowned earlier in the evening in Loudon Lake in Lenoir City, Tennessee, it seemed as though our entire family forever changed.  No parent should have to bury a child and that seemed especially so for my Aunt Ann.  A then-divorced mother of three, the loss of her only son left her and my cousins Linda and Trish to support each other.

The family each had favorite stories and memories of Eddie.  One such story involved when he was a young toddler and wanted the screen door opened so that he could come inside.  He yelled, “I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you let me in!”  That memory is still priceless my aunt and those still alive who remember when it happened.

He was funny and incredibly handy with his hands.  No doubt, had he entered into adulthood, he would have pursued a career that would have involved the extensive use of his hands.  Around that time, wide leather wrist and watch bands were all the rage.  Eddie made one out of some sort of gray leather and, when I admired it, he gave it to me.  That was just how he was.  It was also the last trip that I saw Eddie alive.

Another thought that weighed heavily on everyone’s mind was a song that was Eddie’s favorite at the time of his death.  It’s a gospel song entitled, He Looked Beyond My Faults (And Saw My Needs) written by the late Dottie Rambo to tune of the old Irish tune, Danny Boy. It’s a song about Christ’s forgiveness, grace and unconditional love.  Eddie had heard it at a church youth camp earlier by a contemporary Christian music group that was popular at the time, The Sammy Hall Singers.  At the funeral, the song was played on the saxophone by a family friend.

These thoughts and others occupied the minds of the entire family as preparations were made for the funeral. One image that is indelibly in my mind to this day is how Linda coped with her grief.  Bill Withers’ hit, Lean On Me, was hot on the charts and she bought the 45rpm of that song.  She brought it home and would sit cross-legged on the floor next to her portable record player and played that song over and over as tears streamed down her face.

To this day, when the opening chords of that song first come across whatever system it’s being played on, my mind instantly flashes to that image of Linda sitting on the floor, listening to the words of support and encouragement from Mr. Withers.

I don’t know what it is about songs – any kind of songs - that minister to the soul and serve as benchmarks to the memories we have.  Inspired writers of all types seem to channel the innermost thoughts of the heart if not what sounds and feels like the very words of God.

As I said in the beginning of this piece, it’s been 39 years since Eddie passed away.  I – no, make that “we” - are still touched by the memories of him and the songs from those days that helped us all cope with the pain and the loss.

We still miss you, Eddie.