\Funerals were once no big deal to me, back when they aid last respects to people with whom I had some emotional distance. I never felt truly close to my grandparents, so their funerals didn't devastate me. Those ceremonies simply meant they were moving onto the next logical step in their journey. They were no longer in pain or in a world of dementia fog. My grandma's also meant they could be together since hers came second. Then my half-brother was cut down in the prime of his life by a murderer, who later ended up on the FBI's most wanted. It felt like the specter of death was slowly closing in on my life where grandparents and cats could be lost but no one else. However, I hadn't seen that brother much over the years. I mostly felt for his wife and children and for my dad and his. Loss had not become a meaningful companion.
Then came the year when my husband lost his father, I lost my closest brother, and, worst of all, my husband and I lost our baby, the center of my world. They all died within about four months of each other. Loss rocked my world and fundamentally changed me forever. I was no longer a spectator to other people's loss. Mourning became part of my identity. Funerals became painful, almost impossible places to be.
A few days ago, we went to the memorial service of that friend's husband I mentioned last blog. It was in a park and didn't exactly feel like a chapel-type funeral since it was mostly secular. But any funeral brings up shades of pain. I point blank refused to go to the viewing. The real person, the person's soul that gave them light and life, is gone. All that is left is an empty shell. There are few things more painful than looking at that shell, especially when the person meant so much to you.
My heart broke for my friend on that day. It continues to break every day when something brings to mind her pain. My friend and I spent two hours just talking and crying together one day recently. It didn't feel like enough. When someone has had their heart ripped from their chest like that, nothing is enough. But mourning with those that mourn is something, which is certainly better than nothing.
I know we can live with our loved ones again. I know their spirits are still around, loving us. I know families can be together forever, that love never dies. But I also know it hurts today. Funerals hurt. We need them for closure, but they hurt. Visiting graves hurts. Loss hurts. It helps to have an eternal perspective, to know that this life is just a short piece of a much longer journey. It helps to know that our hearts can be healed by the Savior. But it still hurts. The best thing we can do is to show each other empathy and understanding, to show love and that we are there for each other. No matter what and for as long as it takes.
