When I heard my uncles were flying in from Georgia and Arizona and I would get to hang with heroes from my childhood, I changed my plans and drove four hours to attend the funeral of yet another uncle, my mother’s brother.
My uncle’s death brought a longing to connect.
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My father, his brothers, his one sister and all their spouses are gone. Dad, the youngest, was born in 1931. That whole generation, except for Mom, are gone.
I traveled to attend each one of their funerals. From a little girl perspective, they were all heroes in my life. Gathering with the aunts and uncles and cousins for Christmas, for summer barbecues, for weddings, was a life highlight.
Their slow loss over decades was tangible loss. It’s why I will drive four more hours in less than 24 when the funeral ends— to fulfill that longing to connect.
Funerals are a loss. But they always bring a gain.
When my father's father died, we cousins were having so much fun being together that my grandmother got after us. In her sorrow she couldn’t understand our laughter, our joking, and the joy we had in being together. I’m sure my grandfather couldn’t have been more delighted knowing how much we enjoyed one another’s company.
When my aunt died too soon, a somber feeling presided over the gathering— until Marvin J Ashton stood and pounded the pulpit, “I refuse this day to be sad.”
It was a delightful awakening of our family gathering to celebrate, not to mourn, another hero in my life~~a loving aunt who’d lived and served well her entire life. It was a sober reminder to cherish the presence of everyone else in that chapel.
So… when it’s my turn… dear children and grandchildren who are scattered in distant states, who sometimes only see each other three times a year, who love to swim together, play together, eat delicious food together~~I want to hear your laughter. I want to hear your babies’ giggles.. I want to hear you reminisce~~and you better eat some good food together.
I will be listening.
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