Columnist John Moore’s graduating high school class recently gathered for their 44th reunion. Photo Olyvia Howard Bennett

In the movie “The Big Chill,” a group of old friends gather for the funeral of one of their own, and it turns into a reunion.

Recently, a group of my old friends gathered for a reunion, and it turned into a gathering for a funeral.

I got the call on the way to the reunion venue. My best friend since seventh grade was on the other end of the line.

“My wife just died,” he said.

You hear bad news, but you don’t want to hear what you just heard, so you ask them to repeat it.

“My wife just died,” he said again.

I turned around and headed straight to the ER at the hospital in Ashdown, Arkansas; the town where we’d all been raised.

I was numb.

His wife was a few grades behind us, but we’d all grown up with the same events. We shared the same experiences.

The 70s really was the best time to be a teen. I know that every generation says that about their era. We saw the end of Vietnam, Jimmy Carter swept into office on the tails of Watergate, the rise and fall of disco, and the emergence of Reagan and 80s conservatism. I can honestly say we saw a lot of changes.

And it was those changes we were all reuniting to revisit and reminisce.

The Class of 1980 had gathered at 10 and again at 20 years, but not since. Discussions for a 40th in 2020 were sidelined by the pandemic.

With covid lingering during the subsequent two years, it seemed as though getting back together might fade.

The Ashdown High School Class of 1980 was and still is the largest graduating group of students in the history of the district. With 174 of us, we set the record. Some of the last of the Baby Boomers, we were proud of who we were and looked forward to what the world held for us.

And on a hot and humid May evening, we graduated and then walked into our futures.

Olyvia was a grade behind us, but she wanted to see a reunion as much as I did. She and I took charge and decided to open it up to as many grades of the 80s as wanted to attend.

The Classes of 1980 through 1987 responded.

Everything seemed perfect. She and I handled registration, collecting the funds, booking the venue, the DJ, photographer, and even meeting up to sample the food.

Olyvia put together a slideshow of old photos, facts of the era, and pictures of classmates we had lost.

A reminder of our mortality and the brevity of our existence.

“My wife just died,” he had said. The words repeated in my head the whole evening.

I suspected that my good friend didn’t want her death to overshadow the event. He insisted that I leave him and go to the reunion. He knew I had responsibilities.

I didn’t want to leave him, but I did.

Our classmates knew nothing of what had happened. This was his news to share when he was ready.

When it was over, I headed back over to be with him. I stayed another day.

News of her passing eventually came out. Shock set in for many. Condolences were sent.

But the good time that was had by so many at the class reunion had been allowed to happen. News of my friend’s wife’s passing was held until after.

I think I can speak for the rest of my classmates when I say that I thought that life would be longer. The night was filled with discussions and photos of children and grandchildren, careers, retirement, and hobbies.

But there was one whose story had ended. She had planned to be, but wasn’t there for the reunion.

John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.” Lennon was murdered the year my class graduated, ending any hope we’d all had for a reunion of the Beatles.

Death ends many plans, but not any future plans for the graduating classes of Ashdown High School.

Before the evening ended, those of us at the reunion committed to gather again in a couple of years. Not to let another 24 go by before we gather again.

Because reunions are about our lives. And remembering all of those who were once part of them.

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By John Moore | thecountrywriter.com