They Come

I don't know anyone that enjoys funerals, but I find that I particularly hate them. Mostly. I do like that family you might not often see gets to reconnect, even if only for a short time and under unfortunate circumstances.

I like wakes (for what they can do for a grieving family, not because I think they are fun). As a family member it's wonderfully comforting to see people come to say their goodbyes to your loved one. It reminds you that they were valued in their lifetime, and that people liked them enough to bare the elements to come say goodbye. That's a testament to their earthly life. I also love the stories that people share of your loved one. You know that family member in many ways, but their friends and other people are often able to relay stories that widen your perception of your loved one. It helps to create a different picture of that person and can put a smile on your saddened face.

I like to think that our loved ones who have passed attend their own wakes and funerals. On a couple occasions I have actually found that to be true. When my grandfather died about five years ago we took him (his body) for one last drive past my grandparent's house on our way from the funeral home to the church. The hearse led the way, stopping in front of the house. We pulled up behind the hearse and my dad rolled down the window and said something like, "One last drive past the house, Dad. Say goodbye." It was a cold, rainy, and dismal January day. There was no breeze outside; the air was very still. As we all looked toward the house, the limp American flag on the flag pole lifted up and stood at attention. It then started flapping wildly, even though there wasn't any breeze. My grandfather was a World War 2 Navy veteran that had lied his age to serve in the South Pacific. He loved his country as much as he loved his family, and for years he wore an American flag design bucket hat wherever he went. When we saw that flag start wildly waving, we knew it was my grandpa. As we started driving away, the flag dropped to its original droopy position. At the beginning of his funeral mass the lights went out for about a minute, then came back on. Call me crazy, but I believe that was his way of saying he was there with us.

Here's another example. Today was my husband's grandmother's funeral. She was a woman with a very funny sense of humor, so earlier in the week I told him to pay attention today because it could be likely his grandmother would send some sort of sign. We got it at the cemetery. It was the end of the pastor's speaking part, and she threw a handful of dirt on the casket. Others came forward to do the same. The sun went behind the clouds and hail started falling sideways. This little hail storm didn't end until the last handful of dirt was thrown on her casket, and it didn't hail for the rest of the day. My husband squeezed my hand and laughed. We knew his grandma was there making her presence known (and probably saying, "Stop throwing dirt on me!"). Even the funeral director mentioned the extraordinary event.

I do think our loved ones have ways of letting us know they have safely passed into the next life, and we can see these ways if we pay attention and allow our minds to be open.

This is a quote that was read at Gen's funeral today, and I think it's just a perfect tribute to her life.

"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, 'Wow! What a Ride!"

Be sure to enjoy the people you love while they are on this earth.