Everyone Cries at Funerals

Everyone cries at funerals when marking the passing of a loved one, although most of us battle to contain the flood of emotion bottled inside. I cried but kept it to myself.  My eyes were moist and I could sense the redness foaming on my sclera would give me away.  But I was also stumbling when my splintered voice was mouthing the words of the hymns pretending to sing along with the rest of those attending the funeral service.

I had flown nearly 6,000 miles on short notice, my son and daughter joining me from two separate cities flying red-eyes to attend. He had passed away on New Years’ day, at the age of 70 ½, after a remarkable 49-year marriage to a truly remarkable woman. A man of passion and conviction, there was never a dull moment.  They parented three sons and now have five grandchildren. Forty-nine years of marriage is almost exactly double the number of years that I was married - to - her sister.  As I sat there listening and singing, I could not help but recall another sad day 19 years ago - in another church - in another state – when we were all sitting together mourning the passing of my wife of almost 25 years.

The church was simple in construction but warm and comfortable.  A striking stained glass cross was carved high on the forward wall fronting the chancel, backlit and brilliant, that magnetically attracted my attention during the service.  The words of the minister were heartening. An enthralling eulogy was delivered perfectly that included a brief review of his public and personal life along with snippets of humor and interesting tidbits, interposed with readings from the bible. The service was truly a balanced masterpiece of words, gospel, music and singing.  Amidst the sadness of the day, came the sincere and calming words of the minister, who spoke with a soothing and comforting conviction, positing the spirit of hope of “life” in the afterlife.  Indeed, even those who have wavered in their belief in God could not help but feel the power of the minister’s sincere persuasion of God and heaven. This permeated the church like the warm air protecting us from the outside bitter freezing cold.

Life is to be lived; the darkness comes soon enough. Living is not life, but living life is more than just living.  For those who have passed have chosen their path – whether for good or whether for bad – they have ended their journey.  We believe they have left us before their time.  For those who remain, a crossroad with choices suddenly emerges to awaken and challenge the spirit. 

I am an expert of sorts in spousal loss with nearly 20 years of experience. Some die immediately of a broken heart, but most find their way with the support and love of their family and friends.  Many venture into unknown territory to discover new chapter(s) of life that were never planned, or desired.  My 200 odd blogs reveal my own personal journey in the 19 years since the loss of my wife.

Sitting in church and after at the reception, I felt the love of this very strong and loving family expressed and demonstrated in many ways.  I have no doubt that they will all take care of one another, and find ways to continue to honor the memory of their father/husband/brother/grandfather/friend/etc.  I felt this love was uplifting and comforting, and while there was indeed sadness and grief at the loss of their patriarch, a positive spirit emerged leaving us hopeful and lighthearted.  We all left the church feeling we had experienced life and not death on this day, January 7^th, 2014.