Peggy Ain’t Dead After All

There are some things in life you can prepare for, and some things you just can’t. A high school reunion is one of those you try to prepare for.

You think about what shirt doesn’t show your belly too much, whether your old letterman jacket still fits, mine doesn’t, and which stories you’ll tell without sounding like you’re bragging or embellishing. Then, there are the names. Ah, yes—the list of classmates who won’t be there because they’ve gone on ahead.

Now, I don’t take this list lightly. I sit down, pen in hand, and treat it like I’m writing a sacred roll call.

Every name is a memory. Each one is a piece of my own life.

And each time I jot one down, I pause for a second and think about them—who they were, what we did together, what goofy thing they said or did, that still makes me grin.

So, imagine me today, cross-checking notes, when I find out I’ve been mourning the “death” of Peggy Sanderson for nearly a decade—only to discover Peggy is not dead at all.

Nope. Peggy’s alive, kicking, and, for all I know, probably baking casseroles or teaching her grandkids how to ride a bike.

At first, I thought, Well, ain’t that something? Then I thought, “Wait a second—if Peggy’s alive, then who in the world have I been praying for all these years?”

I had this picture in my head of her passing in 2016. I even remembered telling someone, “Such a shame, Peggy was always the one who could turn detention into a comedy routine.”

Turns out I might’ve been confusing her with another Peggy, or maybe my brain just got sloppy filing memories away. Whatever the case, when the news hit me, I felt this odd cocktail of emotions–relief, confusion, and a pinch of embarrassment.

I mean, what do you do when you find out you’ve been wrong about someone’s death? Send them a card?

“Dear Peggy, congratulations on being alive. You had us worried there for a minute.”

The thing is, death and life have a funny way of making us stop in our tracks. Most of us spend time trying not to think too hard about either one.

But then you get news like this, and suddenly you realize what a gift it is to know someone’s still out there, breathing and laughing. Maybe even making mistakes and trying again tomorrow.

I chuckled while imagining me, walking in, spotting Peggy across the room, and blurting out, “You look great—for a dead woman!”

That’d get me a slap or at least a raised eyebrow, but the truth is, I’d still give her the biggest bear hug she ever had and thank God for second chances—second chances to tell her she mattered, that she made high school a brighter place, that the world’s a little warmer because she’s still here. You see, it’s not really about whether we’ve got the list right.

The list isn’t the thing. It’s about remembering the people we shared a chapter of life with.

Sometimes we goof, but the heart behind it is what counts. And if you’re lucky enough to find out someone you thought was gone is still here, well, that’s about as good as it gets.

So, Peggy, if you’re reading this, forgive me for laying flowers on your memory before your time. I’m not sorry I thought of you, though. In fact, I think I’ll keep on thinking of you—and all of us—as still here, still part of each other’s story, even when we eventually do cross over to the other side.

And when I walk into that reunion, I’ll be glad to know that not only will there be old friends, there’ll also be a few joyful surprises—like Peggy, alive and well, reminding me that sometimes the best news is the news you never saw coming.