I don’t know anyone who actually LIKES funerals/memorial services, but man I DREAD them.
We had a tragic death in our family earlier in the year. The story is not mine to tell, so I’ll be vague. Suffice it to say it was an untimely death. A young man in his prime, doing well by all outward appearance was here one day and gone the next.
His passing left us all in shock. We will never know the complete truth of what happened or why.
I don’t even know why it took so long for the memorial service to be held. Yet another thing we’ll probably never know. But knowing it would be coming eventually has been weighing on my mind. I knew I wanted to be there to support my family; that I WOULD be there for my family. But at the same time, it felt a bit like after so many weeks had passed, it would be like yanking the scab off a wound that had begun to heal. So there was a part of me that didn’t want to go.
I had forgotten how therapeutic these services can be. That some how by sharing stories and being able to laugh at silly remembrances and cry together, the healing process is jump started. And apparently that holds true even if the services are belated.
The Pastor was wonderful. He admitted openly and without reservation that even though it is his job to understand the Bible, and to help people make sense out of the senseless, he doesn’t understand this, and it makes no sense to him. He had no idea why God would have let this happen. All he knew for sure was that God loved this person, and would be looking out for him. And for some reason, I found comfort in that. He encouraged us to both laugh AND grieve.
So. We laughed, and we cried. We hugged and talked and ate. We looked at pictures and heard stories. It was not a great day. But it was a good one. Remembering and celebrating together are good things. And I’m very glad I went.