"Always go to the funeral!"

 

I was talking to my significant other yesterday about funerals. Specifically, my sister's funeral. My kids were young then and were the only kids there. I told him how they got bored and spent their rime running around to expel some of that childish energy. "...and there I was, trying to greet well-wishers and they were running around and running around..." and then, it hit me. They had the zest of childhood, the free spiritedness that one doesn't expect at a funeral. While everyone all around me was feeling the ache of loss, my kids were oblivious to it and just being themselves, bringing more than a few smiles from the faces of somber folks around me.

Fast forward to the kids now being in middle and high school. (I had four kids in five years, so their lives intertwined a lot!) One of their friends died suddenly in a freak car accident. The funeral was scheduled for a Thursday, the wake on a Wednesday evening. I told my kids that they were going to the wake. They did not relish that thought. I, however, insisted, and so, after their catechism class was over, I took them to the church where their friend lay and we waited in line. I myself was shocked by his appearance as we walked by. I saw many other high school aged kids there, hugging each other or talking quietly. My own kids were somber and afterwards, we sat in the warm night air of September and I listened to them expound about life, about friends, about tragedy. I was glad for this chance, that through death came a newfound appreciation for life. I was glad also that I could give my kids another hug, a smile and let them know that I was there for them if needed. It taught us all about the fragility of life.

My husband, who has seen too many of his friends die too young, hates going to funerals. "Never look in the box!" he says. When one of his co-workers passed away suddenly, I told him that we were going to the funeral. We did, but he would not allow himself to go into the room where the casket was. I did, and offered a silent prayer for his family in my heart. When my son lost a buddy at the age of 18, we went to the funeral. It was a closed casket service, but I was glad that we had the chance to offer words of comfort at a time when awkwardness seems to want to take control of our lives. "What do I say?" is a common theme. From one who has been there, I assure you, your presence says it all. Be there. Just BE there. That is it. I don't remember anyone's words when I lost my mom, my dad and my sister, but to this day, I remember the presence of so many who were "there" for me. That is all that was needed. That is all you really need to know.
Just be there.

As seen on a blog recently, I want to share this one thought with you:

"In going to funerals, I've come to believe that while I wait to make a grand heroic gesture, I should just stick to the small inconveniences that let me share in life's inevitable, occasional calamity.

On a cold April night three years ago, my father died a quiet death from cancer. His funeral was on a Wednesday, middle of the workweek. I had been numb for days when, for some reason, during the funeral, I turned and looked back at the folks in the church. The memory of it still takes my breath away. The most human, powerful and humbling thing I've ever seen was a church at 3:00 on a Wednesday full of inconvenienced people who believe in going to the funeral."