Your Funeral

    I remember the day that my mamaw passed away. I was eight and when I was told that she had taken her last breath and that she was in Heaven I did the only thing that I knew to do--I ran away. I ran through the flower garden I had helped her plant. I ran past the pond that I had helped her dig with my pink plastic shovel. I cried and I ran until someone caught me and wiped my tears away. 

   Her funeral was simple. I don't remember who gave the eulogy or if anyone did, but I do remember the smell of pink carnations and the feeling of deep sadness I had in my stomach. I couldn't understand how life could end so quickly.

   Fourteen years later, my father passed away. I did the only thing that I knew to do--I ran away. This time I didn't run through beautiful flowers and I wasn't caught by anyone. I ran hard and fast; as I did I lost pieces of who I was. There were no projects like gardens and ponds to remind me of him. We hadn't really "known" each other that long so there were only letters he had meant to give to me that I found in his room. When I found them, I held them to my chest as if they were gold--they were heavy and weighted my heart down.

   As we get older, we learn to do something very well--hide. We hide behind denial, careers, family, social circles, religion, and good intentions. I hid behind the hurt that had been placed on me. Hiding behind hurt is in a category all in its own--it takes effort of our very soul to keep up the facade. 

   I gave the eulogy at his funeral. It was only about six sentences written on crumbled lined paper. As a writer and as a daughter I felt ashamed--there had been no words to express how I felt. My eulogy expressed my forgiveness and a promise--the promise that I would always remember him fondly and try to love others as he had loved me.

  Mamaw didn't have a huge social life and wasn't part of a community outside of her family. She didn't have many friends, but she was a best friend to her six sisters. She didn't have a career, but was a stay-at-home mom. Mamaw wasn't a perfect mother and had demons in her past, but she found redemption. 

  My father was ill for the last several years of his life. He literally didn't have any friends because most were addicts and had passed away from years of abusing their bodies. My father never had a career or even a job and wasn't always there of me, but he reconciled his past and God gave him a future--even if it was one in Heaven and not a healed body and fresh start here on earth. 

   I chose to write about these two people because by earthly standards they didn't really accomplish much during their time on earth. Neither held a career, had a 401K, traveled, were involved in their community, or even left inheritances behind. What was to be said about them when they crossed from this world and into the next? They both found peace with God--neither in a dramatic conversion and traditional setting. Nevertheless, they found God and they found peace.

  When all was said and done--when breath left their lungs and their hearts failed to beat--what remained valuable about their lives? The flower garden was filled with more memories than lilies and roses. It was there that I felt my Mamaw's love and felt special enough to help her. Helping her dig the pond made my small hands feel capable of change and empowered me to give all of my effort. My father's letters are something that I will always have to remind me of what true love is--an ongoing effort and commitment despite all odds. My last photo with him at my wedding reminds me of the beauty of forgiveness and the promise of healing--whether on this earth or in Heaven.

 This life isn't about the things we leave behind nor is it about the reputation that is etched on our headstone--it is about the hope we have etched on people's hearts. We are meant to leave so much more than material things--lessons learned and instilled in our children and those we love, the genuine love that we held for family and strangers alike, thankfulness and joy that make us live beyond ourselves. 

  

  I eventually stopped hiding. I ran again, but into a place of solace and peace. The pain remains at times, but I dropped my disguise and exchanged it for something new--life--my one chance I have been given on this earth. 

    The flower garden has overgrown, the pond is dried up, and the letters remain in a box. Everything that matters is etched on my heart and will one day be passed to my children.

  I've been given another chance to truly live today. You have been, too. May we live as if living requires effort and that we have everything in the world that matters to leave behind.