another funeral
KU died on Thanksgiving Day. With her family around her. They were married in 1984. The same year we were. Her first boy was born in 87, then 90 and 94. She loved them all madly and that love kept her fighting the evil cancer as long as she did.
This death grieves me. Not because I knew K well, but because I didn’t. Here was a woman close to my own age, with children my children’s ages, living blocks from me. A member of the same church. Oh, I knew her to sit and chat at coffee and laugh at Mother/Daughter teas with her. But I didn’t know her. I missed out.
And I grieve because, at my worst, most exhausted moments this weekend, I thought that she was lucky to be able to finally rest. Rest from the struggle of this life. Rest from the pain, the unwinnable battles, both physical and metaphysical.
Perhaps, dear reader, you think that thought is a terrible thought. That by thinking such a thing I should be medicated immediately and put on 24/7 watch, or scolded …or both.
I think you are denying the fact that thoughts like this are what make going on so sweet. That despite the intellectual understanding that death brings relief from the brokenness of this world, that by choosing not to end the journey highlights the goodness that is found in this realm. The sweetness of a child’s kiss. The glory of a beautiful sunset. The satisfaction of work well done. The wonder of each moment, made new, not by my effort but through God’s sustaining power and love. That I am called to work in this kingdom, in whatever little capacity, for whatever little time, is amazing. That I am exhausted and pained is no surprise. That I am continually and repeatedly renewed and inspired to keep going is the miracle.
If there is such a thing as a “decision” that I can make, I suppose it’s the decision to accept the gift and trust the inspiration, and keep going another hour, another day.
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A year ago (or longer) on This Journey…
