Pete was my friend in kindergarten, and then he moved away for a while, and then he moved back.  We were friends in high school and kept in touch for the first year we were away at college.  After that, there were long gaps between times of emailing each other, and during those gaps I didn’t think of Pete very often, but one particular situation has always brought him to life in my mind:

When I take one of my children to play in a park or some other outdoor place, as evening comes and the air begins to get colder, I think it’s time to go inside, but my child will say, “Not yet!  I’m busy!  We have to stay a little longer!”  This always reminds me of one particular day when I went to Pete’s house after school and we were playing in his yard.

We’d both seen Star Wars the summer before we met, and we both were obsessed.  It was a major focus of our play.  On that autumn afternoon, as the sunshine faded and a cold wind blew in, we were plotting our attack on the Death Star.  The narrow strip of grass between the side of Pete’s garage and the chain-link fence served as the trench along the surface of the evil space station; we crept slowly along it, whispering strategy, coping with setbacks.  Cold seeped from the ground into my knees.  My nose was numb.

“Let’s go inside,” I said.  “Maybe your grandma will make us hot cocoa.”

“Are you kidding?!” Pete demanded.  “The fate of the Rebellion depends on us!  We can’t turn back now!”

Remembering that moment has so often given me the patience to stand there shivering for a few more minutes while my child completes her mission and becomes ready to go home.  Pete was right: We weren’t done having fun yet.

Pete and I got back in touch again in our late forties in a group chat with several other people, now scattered across the United States, who’d been friends in high school.  Our almost-daily text messages kept up a seemingly endless conversation about life, the universe, and everything–including many Star Wars references.  We celebrated our fiftieth birthdays this spring, just a few weeks apart.  “Halfway to a hundred!” I said.

On July 22, Pete died in a car accident.

“Are you kidding?!” I thought.  “You can’t quit now!  We’re not done having fun yet!”  I couldn’t believe my kindergarten buddy would abandon me to complete this mission alone.

About a week later, I woke up one morning realizing I had it all wrong.  Pete hadn’t abandoned me and given up early.  It’s obvious–it’s right there in the name–

He had gone on ahead to attack the Death Star.

Whatever it is that awaits us after we die, Pete had suddenly found himself in the moment when he got to step into that new adventure.  Within hours after we got the news, one of our other friends in the group chat recalled that a few weeks earlier we’d discussed this meme, “What horns do you want when you get to hell?” and Pete had chosen Style 4.  In a silly way, it comforted me to picture Pete being pleased with his new horns.  And after a while, I remembered Chad Smith who’d been one of Pete’s best friends in high school and who died almost a decade ago, and I pictured Pete waiting in line for horns (I mean, if it’s hell, there must be a lot of standing in line, right?) when Chad would come by, excited to see him and keep him company and show him all around.

But this doesn’t mean I think Pete went to hell!!!  I don’t really believe in a dichotomous afterlife, heaven or hell, people sorted into totally perfect or totally evil with no in-between.  I believe that when we die, God takes care of us and gives us everything we deserve, and we won’t know exactly what that’s like until we get there.  Pete had an extremely dark sense of humor, literally signed one of my yearbooks “I AM SATAN!!! (not)”, and committed some sins here and there–but he was also a kind and caring friend, an excellent father, a loving and supportive husband, and a nurturer of animals of many species.  Nobody who loved like he did would be swept into eternal fire.

Watching Pete’s memorial service livestreamed on YouTube, hearing a reference to John 14:1-4, in which Jesus promises that in God’s house are many rooms and he is going to prepare one for you, I realized that the Lord who loves each one of us for our uniquely wonderful selves had prepared a room just right for Pete, with his favorite horns and everything.

Here’s a picture I took in 2021 and shared in the group chat.  Pete was pleased that, immediately after taking the photo, I sat on that bench to receive the blessing that God was obviously bestowing.  I hope that, after the horrifying last moment of his earthly life, Pete woke up in a peaceful beautiful place with many more adventures to enjoy.

Pete’s life had many chapters, and I’m grateful to have known him in several of them.  I wasn’t ready for the sudden ending.  But in the same way that my memory of playing with Pete sustained me through many chilly evenings, even when we hadn’t spoken in years, all of my many memories of Pete will be with me all the days of my life.