Reflections On A Funeral

I wrote a different post right before this about my family (so if you read that too then you got a little extra taste), and suddenly decided it wasn't accurately reflecting my current emotional state. Here is the new version.

I remember my grandmother's funeral like it was yesterday. I seem to remember funerals very vividly. They are one of the types of memories that get stored in my brain most easily.

I remember the look on my father's face when I walked into the funeral parlor (I had just driven to South Bend all the way from Bloomington). He was so happy that I was there. As soon as he came within 3 feet of me the softness in his eyes began to melt. The tears formed a glassy lens over his eyes and a few of them made their way down to his cheeks. He hugged me. He told me how happy he was to see me, and right away, asked if I was ready to go see grandma. I quickly threw my belongings to my sister and made my way towards the front in my first pair of heeled shoes I had bought 3 days before (as though my legs weren't shaky enough). As we stood there staring down at her lifeless body, pictures flashed through my mind. It was like a digital photo frame going on hyperdrive and I saw every moment we had ever shared together. My father's tight hands on my arm squeezed, we hugged, and walked away. I wiped the tears from my eyes, and joined the rest of my family.

I remember the procession of people saying goodbye for the last time. I remember seeing that last person in line, my aunt Anita whom I hadn't seen in 4 years. A huge boquet of yellow roses was positioned to the side of the casket and just as my aunt Anita passed the boquet, a single yellow petal slowly fell to the ground. It was so beautiful in all its simplicity that it nearly took my breath away. It seemed the world was falling apart right in front of my eyes, and I was powerless to stop it.

I remember my dad and his sister and brothers walking up towards her casket to say goodbye for the last time, and I remember that I'd never seen my dad any sadder than I did that day (and my dad is really a pretty emotional guy if we're being honest). The thing that got me the most was not that I would be losing a grandmother, but that my father would be losing a mother.

And that is how it's always been. No one I was ever particularly close with has ever passed away, so my sorrow at funerals is always for those who are grieving. I grieve for the grievers. My level of personal distress becomes increasingly high, making it difficult to keep my composure in these extreme emotional situations. Maybe this is why I remember the details so well. They are so powerful, because they affect me so deeply. They make me feel real, and human again. They make me feel raw, and vulnerable. They make me feel like there are issues that exist outside of me, that are bigger than my own. And that, sadly, is something I need to be reminded of more often than twice a year.