My family just returned home from a two-day, 400-mile road trip. We braved awful Friday afternoon New York City traffic, snow squalls, icy roads, dense fog and whiteout conditions to say our final goodbyes to a dear family friend.
George; my husband’s coach, mentor and a friend of us all.
The moment we pulled into the driveway and unpacked our car, I threw in a load of laundry, changed into my cozy sweats and grabbed my computer to write. I just couldn’t wait one more second to tell you that I believe I’ve discovered the meaning of life.
Jerry; Father, Pop Pop, Father in-law and fairest man in the world.
Over the course of my 58 years on this planet, I’ve attended my fair share of funerals. As a child, ironically, I recall funerals scaring the life out of me. Open caskets were commonplace back in my day and seemed so primitive to me. If I am being honest, and no disrespect to those who appreciate a good viewing, I still don’t like them. They leave me feeling physically ill. “Don’t they look great?” And what’s a person to say, “Nope, they look dead, puffy, slathered in makeup and nothing like how I wanted to remember them?”
Then the cluster of what to say? What not to say? How do you console a person you’ve never met? “Hello, I worked with your husband and loved him. I am going to miss him at work.” Do they really care? Do they think I am comparing my loss to theirs? Aren’t they tired of all this social kindness? Wouldn’t they just rather read my sympathy card at a later time, alone with a glass of wine?
These last few years, however, I have lost some pretty wonderful people—mostly people I’ve loved deeply. People who directly affected my life, my path and who I am. These funerals were different for me, so I asked myself why. It wasn’t just that I was close to these people. Could it just be that I am more mature? Is it because I am actually older and therefore closer to my own final chapter? Maybe it has something to do with my strong belief in angels and the afterlife? Or perhaps it’s just a special concoction of them all.
Cathy; my friend, illustrator, business partner who turned my dreams into reality
Whatever the reason may be, I now feel honored to attend a funeral. This is not to say I anticipate a happy occasion full of laughter and confetti. But I no longer dread the conversations. Instead, I see it as an opportunity for everyone who loved, admired, respected, worked beside the deceased to come and pay their respects one last time. Share their story, tale and sorrow with others in the same boat. Meet strangers who now somehow feel like a friend. Put a face to a name you heard so much about. Hug a family member who strongly resembles them. Hear someone speaking who has their same tone of voice.
As I stated before, these last few funerals felt very different to me. I noticed the people who showed up and the lengths at which people traveled to be present. I looked at their faces and saw their heartache. I noted all the different relationships people had with the deceased; be it family, friend, co-worker, coach, wife, husband, teammate or neighbor. I listened to the reasons they loved them and why they will miss them so much. I could have listened all day to the “I remember the first time I met …” stories.
Ira; my Uncle, who faithfully loved and supported both me and my dreams his entire lifetime.
But what struck me was how each person attending the funeral knew the why. Why the person who is no longer with us changed their life for the better. This for me is indeed “The Meaning of Life.” It wasn’t ever about money, gifts or riches. It always came down to giving of themselves to others. It was about their time, attention, kindness and being accountable.
I now know this … I want a closed casket, please, so you may remember me in your best light. I want people to cry. I want to be missed, really, really badly. I want to leave gaping holes in everyone’s heart. I want an open microphone so everyone can share their stories, but also want the stories of how you helped me included, too. I want good food at the after gathering and I want everyone who attended to leave with a thoughtful parting gift. But above all, I want to know I left this world, and my people, happier than had I not been here at all.
My Uncle often spoke of a Farewell Party instead of a funeral. His family honored his wish and threw him a lovely party. The only thing missing was the guest of honor.
A little thing you should know: Weather mimicked our life for sure this weekend. As many weather elements we experienced outside our body, so too did our hearts inside. And about 45 minutes from home the sun poked out of a clearing sky and a rainbow appeared. A sign for sure.
Moral: Every pain gives a lesson and every lesson changes a person. Abdul Kalam