"Grief, as I read somewhere once, is a lazy Susan. One day it is heavy and underwater, and the next day it spins and stops at loud and rageful, and the next day at wounded keening, and the next day numbness, silence." Anne Lamott
My funeral dress is getting entirely too much wear.
4 times in 9 months.
There is this season of life where you attend weddings. Everyone you know is getting married. Half of them want you to wear a hideous expensive dress that regardless of how many times they say you will, you absolutely will never wear again. You cry as the groom sees the bride for the first time. You show up, you celebrate. You eat cake.
There is the season of baby showers. Everyone is having a baby. Open the ridiculous registry of stuff you know they will absolutely never use and you buy something. You can't wait to meet this newest little life. You guess the baby's birthdate or weight. You show up, you celebrate. You eat cake.
There is the season of birthday parties. Every trampoline park, public park, germ infested kid place. You go. It's loud. You take a toy that hopefully makes the most noise ever. You marvel how much the birthday child has grown since the last time you saw them. You smile that authentic ear to ear smile. You show up, you celebrate. You eat cake.
The thing about funerals is that they are a constant of life.
There is no "funeral season" - they appear sometimes with grace and advance notice, other times abruptly and harshly.
As I've sat through (and officiated one) I've been thinking about the event that is a funeral.
What is its purpose?
Each funeral has been vastly different in tradition, location, experience.
But they've all had one thing in common.
People show up and celebrate.
Not the death, but rather the life that was lived.
Not instead of, but in the midst of deep mourning, there is always the sharing of the gift it was to know the deceased.
The legacy that is left behind.
The gift it was to have loved the deceased.
At this most recent funeral, the officiant defined a life well lived.
We often think of a life well lived as something chronological. A calendar. A long life.
But in reality, a life well lived is not based on the number of days we are given.
But rather on what we have done with those days.
It's how we loved others, served others, showed kindness to others.
It's the connections we made.
That's the legacy we leave behind.
Mama Warriors, despite how verbose I always seem here, I am always at a loss for words when I go to fill out a sympathy card.
I've learned as I've stood in all these funerals that the most meaningful thing we can offer someone else is to show up. To celebrate the life of the deceased. To stand in mourning with others.
To take a minute to share the legacy that was left - how did the deceased touch your life? What's the memory that holds on for you?
It will never be "enough" but yet at the same time it absolutely will be appreciated.
Show up.
Celebrate.