I was at a funeral yesterday.
It was the fifth funeral that I have been to and the third one that was tragic. There is often a very palpable feeling of surrealism at a funeral. The environment is very artificial, and people don't necessarily act like themselves.
In churches, funerals are more hopeful--if it's possible to say that. In funeral homes they are just creepy. Churches are often open and beautiful. There is ritual which I don't always understand, incense sometimes, chanting, but there is a feeling of community and solidity that lessens the tragedy of it all. Funeral homes are plain and boring in their decoration and the air is stale, there is little or no light and its the utilitarian aspect of them that gives me the creeps.
Yesterday it was in a church. Standing and feeling the collective pain and sorrow of the family members and friends all around me I could feel all the deaths that came before. I was transported back to the very first when I was around twelve, the first time I'd ever seen a dead body, and it was my great-grandmother, a woman I'd written letters to since I was five. A woman that played 'Snakes and Ladders' with me, made puzzles with me, walked with me and taught me that life was about hard work and sacrifice and love.
I thought of Paul who couldn't handle the faces in the mirror or the voices in his head, my uncle who left behind three teenagers and my neighbour's father who'd lived a long life.
As I stood there listening to the priest sing and chant, I felt the mother's pain standing in front of me. There are no guarantees in life, but outliving a child is a cruel twist of fate. I couldn't help but put myself in her place, how would I feel if that was my child lying lifeless before me? I think I'd crumble, insane with grief and overwhelming loss. But she stood before us all and cried and moaned and accepted the condolences from all her family and friends. The human spirit is a miraculous thing.
And we went to the meal after and talked quietly with people and then collected our children and came home. But nothing seemed quite as serious as it was before. No, we didn't have any groceries to make dinner but we'd figure something out. Yes, two of our kids are home sick with a cold but they'll just make up the work. And the work at the office that didn't get done just wasn't as important anymore.
And I realized life is all about perspective. Death puts you right back to survival, whether it is physical, emotional or spiritual. The deceased's problems, victories, loves, career, friends and life are over, for them. They are at peace. But we are left to pick up the pieces of what the death means to us, whatever that might be.
And that's, I think, what funerals are for. They are reminders that life is here today and sometimes gone tomorrow. That people exist not only in our lives but in our minds and hearts as well. A good thing to remember when the everyday routines of life become overwhelming and weigh upon our shoulders.
An so, today, I am going to hug my son more, take my dog for a walk in the park, cuddle up with my love tonight and remember all the lives lost.
