Funerals

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I imagine a lot of people hate funerals for many reasons.  2010 killed funerals forevermore for me.  Not that I ever wanted to attend one to begin with.  Attending one usually means you've lost someone near and dear to you or to someone you love.  I'd lost cats and other pets and my grandparents, but funerals seemed a distant reality at that point.   2010, my husband's beloved father died in February (but we only found it out via Google after the face--long, ugly story--so attending a funeral was not an option).  I lost my beloved brother in May, and I was notified (via voice mail) Mother's Day morning.  That had to be a blow to our mom.  A month and a half later, at the end of June, my baby died in a tragic accident.  It felt like the grim reaper was stalking us all year and finally cut our hearts out.  Every attempt at a rainbow baby resulted in more and more and more loss.  Life has never been the same since, and death has been our constant companion.  Funerals seemed a specter I could not handle.  

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We've attended a few funerals since, but mostly to support friends or distant family.  Recently, my husband's brother lost his beloved wife.  He's already lost his mom and dad.  He only has two brothers, and one has burned all bridges with us through nightmarish means.  That means my husband only has one brother who remains, and they're very close.  My husband's brother has had serious health problems and carries an oxygen tank.  Losing his wife to cancer was a terrible blow, especially since she seemed so strong and healthy until the news of two kinds of cancer, including pancreatic, came out a short time ago.  The shock of the dreaded C word didn't have much time to become their reality before it took her.  

[Alli's tiny casket]

We went up to their house to support the family.  My husband went to the viewing, but I couldn't do it.  I haven't been to a viewing since I saw my baby, cold and waxy, in her casket ten years ago.  I can't do viewings anymore.  Just the thought brings it all back, with painful tears.  

[Her celebratory casket] 

I did attend the funeral, which my sister-in-law planned herself in her waning weeks when it became a reality she wouldn't be here much longer.  She was a popular teacher for over two decades, well-loved and very much missed by the whole community.  I'd never been to a funeral like that before, in a football stadium, with football players singing the school song, color guard marching with the flag, the national anthem, loved ones singing "The Spirit in the Sky."  It seemed more a celebration of her life than a standard, sedate funeral.  It didn't bring back the wave of flashback pain like most funerals would.  Like just thinking of attending the viewing did.  It seemed the ideal sort of celebration for someone so young, seemingly healthy, and vibrant.  But it was still a funeral and still brought back shades of my own pain.  

[from Pixabay.com]

It's a hard thing to deal with loss.  It changes one in a fundamental way.  I loved the way the family of my sister-in-law spoke of her ongoing presence in their lives.  They spoke of family as a forever principle.  They focused on how they would see her again, how they would hold her and be together again.  I like to focus on that part of loss because it reminds one that the Lord overcame death, that loss isn't forever, that those who are separated will see each other again soon.  Just as the funeral brings back old pain, so does this kind of reminder bring back hope.  I'm very thankful for this reminder.  The Lord died, so we could be together again with our families.  I will hold my baby again.  This pain will not last forever.  Funerals are such a mixed bag for me, with a lot of emotional baggage good and ill.  I just have to focus on the hope and remind myself loss isn't forever, and funerals are just for now.