I hate funerals!
Why do people feel the need to die?
And what part of life is death?
I used to think that funerals were solemn occasions for quiet reflection, to offer support to the family and friends left behind.
But then I had to bury my own daughter. First born, of a single mother. And discovered that funerals are not solemn occasions, for quiet reflection. In reality, they are a hellish reminder that the nightmare can not be woken up from, that the anguish is actually real, and that a life has ended.
Words can not describe the pain, sleep fails to appear, and time drags on agonisingly slowly. The world drifts by in a haze. And some expect you to be over it in 6 moths.
When we "quietly reflect", upon what are we reflecting? Ourselves or the one who has died?
Is the funeral about the one who died, or is it about our loss?
We say some words, sing some songs, tell the person things we should have told them before they died, put them in the ground. Then what? Life goes on! It doesn't stop for mourners. Work eventually wants us back, people drift away, the planet continues to spin, one day drifts wearily into the next.
Can we really say that God is good? If we are brutally honest, do we really believe that God is good? What if we prayed for healing? Is God still good because the person died? Or do we inwardly and secretly believe that God is a load of crap because our loved one died?
What if?
Why?
Will the answers to these questions make life more livable?
I hate funerals because they impose reality on us in a harsh and painful manner.
Every funeral I went to prior to my daughters was "a walk in the park", because there was no pain attached to it. No feeling of loss, just a vague sense of discomfort from those closest to the deceased. But then after the funeral of my daughter, every funeral takes me back to that one. That one earth shattering moment of realisation that she is gone.
Funerals are a painful reminder of the frailty amd fragility of human life. They are also the reminder that for another family and set of close friends that the nightmare and anguish are real, and there is no waking up.
May Gods blessings shower down upon you. And may you be coated in the dust of your Rabbi!
Australian Watcher On The Wall
http://australianwatcheronthewall.blogspot.com.au
1 comment:
I am glad you wrote this post, Trish, though I imagine it was difficult to write. I know how much I grieved (and still do daily)and have rants with God for the loss of our Isaac during pregnancy. I cannot fathom how much harder it must be to lose a little child you have held, soothed, played with and watch grow for two and a half precious years. I often think of Xavier, even though I never got to meet her. I always tell people I have five nieces - I always see her as part of our family, even though most of us won't have the privilege of knowing her until we get to Heaven. And I agree that funerals are terribly hard events, as I get older I appreciate the loss and anguish for somebody's family and friends rather than just an occasion to mark the passing of some person's life. And even more so when it is a child or someone who should have experienced more of this life on earth before going to be with Jesus.
And I don't know the answers to the questions about how we see God when a loved one passes. I just know He is there in it. He is there when I cry, He is there when I rage at Him, He is there in the exhaustion, in the sleepless nights that last forever. He is there when the overwhelming blackness surrounds me, when I can't see Him in the darkness.
I was praying for a little boy for a long time, a friend of a friend's little two year old who had cancer. There were a lot of us praying for him, he was prayed for around the clock. And I had no doubt that God would heal him, no doubt at all. Even as he got sicker, those of us that were praying were believing for the miracle. When they sent him home for palliative care, we still prayed and believed, knowing that when he was healed it would be such a testimony of the greatness of our God. He died four days after coming home from hospital. He wasn't my child, but as a mum who had a child the same age, it hit me hard. I cried, I yelled at God, I despaired. I asked God why He had me pray if the child was going to die anyway... I was lost. I had done what I thought God had told me to do, so what was I supposed to do now? After about four days, I remembered some wisdom a wonderful lady gave me - she said before you do anything, put on the armour of God. I hadn't done that for a few days, so I did so. But I got out the bible to read the passage again (even though I don't have to, I know the passage well). And then I saw it. Something that was always there, but had never 'seen' before. It talks about the armour of God, and being able to stand against the enemy. But there is a little phrase "and after you have done all you can do, stand.." Never noticed it before. And it told me what I was to do. I had done all I could for this little boy, I had done what God had told me to do. Now I needed to keep standing and doing what God wants, even if I don't understand things, or things don't turn out how I expect/want. I need to trust that He sees the whole picture, I see only a small bit.
I don't know why Xavier died, or why others live. I don't know why some of our babies go straight to Heaven before we get a chance to meet them. And I honestly don't know if that makes God 'good' or 'bad' or anything else in the eyes of myself or others, if we were being honest. I have just come to know I don't understand a lot of things, especially as I get older, but I have to believe that God is bigger than my limited understanding.
I am glad you wrote about Xavier, and the experience of losing a precious little girl. But I wish it wasn't something that you had experienced. Lots of love to you xx
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