I always leave a funeral with a message

 

I have attended more funerals and visitations this year over any other. Or was one degree away from the death of someone. The average age of the these 25 males under 72 who passed away was 61.8. It was 66.8 for six women--mothers of friends and three friends.

I always leave a funeral with a message.

--The disciples had a journey during the Great Commission. The Israelites left Egypt. Ours is eternal life.

--Perhaps my time seems too brief. Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.

Both are lines from the death of two friends' mothers.

I've listened to I Believe by Ronnie Dunn and heard the "When Tomorrow Starts Without Me" poem by David Romano.

I've heard scripture. Sometimes the time of death is confusing to us like someone making plans he was unable to fulfill, but he isn’t disappointed. Heaven has trees, rivers, cities of gold and radiant light. If God were to give us all a view of heaven as clear as that which people are seeing now, we wouldn’t hang on to this life the way we do. Nothing on this earth can compare--Corinthians 2:9. People who have seen heaven don't want to come back. In that eulogy, someone said his mom didn't see her brother in her near death experience. Revelation 21:4 played a part in this message. Why would there be tears in heaven? That's why. Only two things in this life should remain important: To know Jesus. To make sure those we love know Jesus.

I learned about Welcome, Sister Death. St. Francis devised a ritual for friars to follow (Transistus or Passage celebration on Oct. 3).  By calling death sister, Francis reminds us that Christian faith has a sacred message about death. Because of our sharing in the death and resurrection, death is not the absolute end of life, but the end of life in the world and the beginning of life in the next.

I've mused over "I've never been to church without him" from someone who lost her husband. And how President George H.W. Bush and Barbara have shared Christmas together for 73 years.

I've read obituaries. This one I love. The kids recall times on the family boat that broke down regularly. The dad, an optimist, placed a sticker on the boat that said, "Nothing about this sucks." And he has submitted an address notification with a forwarding address of Pearly Gate Way, Heaven.

From celebrities and philosophers on how they handle death:

Jaclyn Smith said tears put you in contact with that person. She cries every day over her mom after eight years and doesn't even go to Houston, her birthplace.

Teddy Roosevelt lost his wife and his mother on the same day when he was 25. He went to the Badlands to escape his depression by riding his horse 15 hours a day.

Chris Hurst ran for office after his TV reporter girlfriend was gunned down on the air.

Ann Graham Lotz said her husband's death was not an accident. It was God's foreordained time for him to move to his father's house.

For Brandon Burlsworth, the subject in "Greater," this message is summarized in the final scene - his headstone. The epitaph reads: "Our loss is great, but God is greater."

Lauren Daigle describes her earthly loss, but heavenly gain is in this video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3t2Tf1Dqf7w&fbclid=IwAR2zmIsR-cwlfYtzSNrliB8jrvKPi4ndh1_auuTRm5sB2mnxwGyQ97ObsUs&app=desktop

Don't you wish they could beam down, Sandra Bullock asked, thinking of her mother who she feels like had a hand in her adopting children. You can't bring them back, but they are not erased.

You have to honor that memory and keep it alive, Luke Bryan explained on his family losses.

I heard it said that Robert Kennedy still lives in every courageous politician who seeks a newer world and enters the moral conflict. He still lives in every ripple of hope and every blow in the walls of oppression and resistance.

Some of our best living is done through the people we leave behind. Della Reese

You don't have to be famous; you just have to make your mother and father proud of you. Meryl Streep

Dak Prescott does the things his mother told and taught him.  The Ready. Raise. Rise. cancer campaign initiative his mom envisioned lets her goodness live on.

                Skier Jon Lillis wears his brother's shoes every day and a pendant with his ashes.

Food can be a wonderful thread through time, says Jennifer Nettles. It is living history. When she makes her great-grandmother's hoecake, she feels connected to her. It is transportive, a time machine. She remembers the kitchen, her hands in flour and her skill at flipping the pan.

Roma Downey went to her mom's grave and saw a butterfly the first time. Now, it's a reminder of God's love.

Friends show their love in times of trouble, not in happiness. -- Euripides (Their right words cushion you with love).

The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our separate ways, I to die, and you to live. Which of these two is better only God knows. Socrates

Grief is an excruciating emotion. What you have lost will never come back. A part of them goes, a part stays here. How can you put those qualities of that person in your behavior? Embody those you appreciated.  Try not to suppress your pain; it will only heighten it.

Grief is somewhat like major surgery. In time, the pain will lessen, but the scars will remain. Eventually you will laugh as you laughed together. Pray for the deceased. My mom encouraged me to have friends in heaven. Let the deceased be spoken without a shadow of a ghost.

There is in Christian faith the antidote for sorrow. You loved. Why don't you entrust the loss to His love? They could no longer be in our arms, but they were in someone’s arms; their own angels in heaven hold them for the time being.

Grief is unity or disunity. Love or hate. Peace or war. Healing or pain. Embrace or exclusion. One family did a shrine for their daughter at the dining room table with photos, flowers, baby booties and a jar of sand from her favorite place. That is active remembering. A widowed husband still makes his wife breakfast and buys her Valentines. Hope that grief is comforted by the goodness of life and not the reality of death. Do good things. Preserve a loved one's handwriting. I've done this for my parents and grandparents and framed it.

A lady put together an anniversary photo of wedding bands, hearts, his watch, books, love letters and a candle.  She kept a journal noting a funny email, times she helped someone at work, the changing seasons.  She sorted recipes and travel articles he collected.

From Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors (TAPS) magazine: grief takes a lot of energy out of you. Find something that is replenishing to recharge your battery. Have a Memory Bash--at hospitals, hospices, funeral homes, religious groups with those in the same boat. Grief brain is like being drunk. It's hard to be in the moment. Energy is redirected to the new normal. Empathy is the person who is in the hole with you and sees the world from your perspective.

Download the goodgrief app to communicate with others.

In the second year, you become aware of the smaller, daily concerns. No couple friends call.  You will always miss your husband, but you will soften. You need to find something to reinvest in, a counselor said.

A Wall Street Journal article said don't clam up when life brings you down. There is no point in trying to save face by pretending the problem is not there. Don't flash out an emotional Morse Code that all is well. Risk some candor. You'll find it a relief and others will respect it.  Don't playact and invent stories. Have a good-natured conversation. Connect. Be forthright. Be in grief's presence.

Lay aside chronos and embrace kairos. There are two different words that the ancient Greek language used to describe the idea of time. One is chronos, which is the linear time we measure with a clock. The other is kairos, which has less to do with the measurement and quantity of time and more to do with the quality of time. Modern cultures tend to focus on chronos, but some cultures still understand the value of kairos. America, with all of our focus on chronos, has lost track of kairos. We rarely inhabit the moment we’re in because we’re focused on the next moment, the next thing we have to do. 

You cannot get away from who you are or from how you've shaped your experiences. As Salman Rushdie overserved,  those who do not have the power over the story that dominates their lives, power to retell it, rethink it, deconstruct it, joke about it and change it as times change, truly are powerless because they cannot think new thoughts. You must integrate your past into your present. 

A story told is a life lived. Bodie Miller said drowned daughter Emmy will work through him.

Grief is a doorway to the opening of the heart, said Paula D'Arcy, who lost her husband and daughter to a drunk driver while three months pregnant.

Before she died, my world was vivid, safe and full of hope, said a father about his daughter. I had to forge ahead. I had to become more than my former self, despite grief and in honor of love. He has to tackle being there for his son and being asked how many children he has, knowing one is deceased.

A mother had an interesting reply to how she was after her addict son's death. I've never slept so good in ten years. There is something worse than death. Staying up at night after worrying about the whereabouts and well-being of a son who is controlled by addiction. He is resting in peace and so am I.

Petty grievances of irksome co-workers, a child with the sniffles, flat tires pale in comparison after experiencing grief. Not everyone can start a foundation to cure cancer or get a medical degree.  But I try to be less judgmental, a little more forgiving and generous, a little more grateful for the small moments in life. Tracy Grant/Washington Post

Some inspire out of tragedy.

On a Steve Hartman story, a man had a lamp like an eternal flame, a picture on his wife's pillow, visited the cemetery five times a day, and hands out pictures of her tombstone.

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is a top destination in Russia. They take photos and sip champagne while the bride and groom pay their respects by laying flowers at the grave.

Sackcloths were a symbol of mourning in biblical times. It showed heartfelt sorrow for the loss of a person.

While many nursing homes have the funeral home enter through the back door, one did an honor walk. The staff formed a line along the walls to the entrance. This was honoring a deceased resident. This was embracing death. This was sacred.

Though you want the world to slow to a pedestrian pace, the world will be busy on the day people die. Calendar posts are still relevant to others. Material things are left. Arguments won will not serve. Regrets will be resigned to the past. Time is finite and fleeting. --paraphrasing John Pavlovitz

It may not sink in for a while. Some people are going in circles.  It's OK to feel like the shell of the man you once were. These words will come to mind: Hollow heart. Crisis mode. Forlorn, bereft, devastated, jarred, broken, corrosive, empty, crushing, inconsolable, stinging, crushing. Lights are off. You don't have to be a granite cliff, strong and rugged.

Imagine an old-fashioned handcar that railroad workers used in the 17th and 18th centuries to traverse train tracks. Two people would stand on either side and take turns pumping the seesaw-like lever back and forth with muscle power. The back and forth of grief of resilience and vulnerability actually has no rewards for speed. If your handcar moves at a snail's pace, so be it. If it goes backwards sometimes, so be it. Also think of a teeter totter, up and down.

It helps to steer into the wild emotions of grief, as if driving in a skid, purposely setting your course toward them. Grief is a difficult road to navigate, but the detour could be worse.

The above is from a TAPS story, which also mentions grief being compared to winter, dark, overcast, bleak and cold. People withdraw indoors in isolation. But our bodies are not designed for storage of feelings, but expression. Do get ample rest, nutrition, hydration, exercise and health care.

President Abraham Lincoln in a Guideposts story said perhaps his depression may have given him coping skills that helped him accomplish. He lost an infant brother and his mother at 9. When he was 18, his sister gave birth to a stillborn child and died. At 22, friendless, penniless and uneducated, he left the Illinois farm to carve a career as a lawyer. One friend said his melancholy dripped from him as he walked. An artist recalled he had the saddest face he ever attempted to paint. He lost his two sons and dealt with the Civil War. Because he spoke of suicide, he didn't carry a pocketknife for fear of using it. Friends removed razors from his room. What strengths may have been bestowed from this? Jokes and storytelling were his refuge from despair. "I laugh because I must not weep." Knowing his own failings, he could forgive others. He was dedicated to a cause. He was dependent on God. "I am driven to my knees by the conviction that I have nowhere else to go." His treatment included starving, bleeding, dunking in icy water, purging with black pepper drinks, swallowing mercury and applying mustard rubs. He emerged emaciated, exhausted and worse.

But you don't have to. Just remember in heaven, your loved one's crown is overladen with jewels. And your next year can bring you healing and growth, giving and love.