Mostly due to my age and my placement in the order of lineage in my extended family, I haven't had the opportunity to attend more than maybe a handful of funerals. With each funeral I remember, I feel different types of emotions and sentiment. Each one bearing its' own significance, and process of learning in my mind. These are the three that keep stagnating around my thoughts today...
When I worked for the division of Youth Corrections, I attended a funeral of a Surenos Gang Member. I escorted some of the boys I was working with at the time (along with a few other counselors) and drove up into the foothills of Bountiful. This particular young man had been shot after an altercation with Police, and it had been heavily publicized...so we were concerned about the funeral turning into reunion/gang fight.
I walked through the Viewing line which was held in a Latter Day Saint Relief Society room, and paid my respects to a family who had lost their son. Their son laid in a casket, dressed down in blue from the rag on his head to the shoelaces on his sneakers. It felt very contradictory for me, knowing what the young man's clothing represented, and feeling somewhat shocked at seeing the blatant use of gang paraphernalia around a room that women used to worship God. The service was touching, and I vividly recall the young mans' little brother, maybe not more than ten, speaking of the love and respect he had for his fallen brother. I could see in his eyes the path his life was going to lead due to the untimely death of his big brother. A path of lost innocence and retaliation. A path he didn't deserve to have to travel. This was the beginning of my understanding of the gray area of life. The part of life that doesn't always fit into the nice box we hold for it in our minds.
My Grandpa Jack died when Abby was small, yet some days the wound still feels freshly open. I spoke at his funeral, which was very healing for me, and I felt I was able to say things that I probably should have said aloud in life. The last time I saw him alive, he was lying in his bed. When he noticed I had come into the room, he began straightening his posture and attempting to hide his obvious discomfort. "Oh, Hi Jenny!" he said in the cheerful tone he greeted me with each time I saw him. I don't recall the words after that, just the peaceful understanding that I was loved by him.
A few years later in a Sacred Room, my Grandpa came to me again. I heard his voice and felt his breath on my left shoulder as I sat in prayer. His words were one of preparation for my future. A future which included a very tumultuous couple of years. A future he was aware of, and wanted me to know I could handle. A future that had purpose beyond my vision. I left again knowing I was loved.
Today, we mourned the loss of a friend. A woman whose kind heart touched everyone she came in contact with. She loved my kids, always being so complimentary of them, and so giving. Each time I stopped by to see Blair during the work day, I would always stop by to see her first. In fact, usually she would spot me out her window and meet me in the foyer...knowing that I carried Deak with me inside my car. She was an avid reader of this blog, and often commented to Blair about her genuine concern and love for our kids. I worried some about posting this, worried it may feel too cliche, but I know that she will be reading this where she is now, and I wanted her to know she too, was so loved.
I had a few moments to myself in the car before picking Blair up to attend her funeral this morning. While driving, a perfectly placed song, playing from a CD given to me by another friend, resonated deeply with the emotions I have been feeling throughout this week, and especially today. Our burdens here on this earth are hard. They are incomprehensibly tough and they are way, way too heavy at times. Sometimes, as this song recites, even too heavy for Superman to lift. I have had those moments, as we all have, and I have gotten through those moments only because I have had people in my life and in the heavens, willing to lift that burden off my shoulders. Even if only for a second.
I want to do that. I want to be better. I want to be the person who focuses more on lifting others' rather than being lifted. Thank you for letting me re-learn this lesson today Kristy...drink a good diet coke for me...
When I worked for the division of Youth Corrections, I attended a funeral of a Surenos Gang Member. I escorted some of the boys I was working with at the time (along with a few other counselors) and drove up into the foothills of Bountiful. This particular young man had been shot after an altercation with Police, and it had been heavily publicized...so we were concerned about the funeral turning into reunion/gang fight.
I walked through the Viewing line which was held in a Latter Day Saint Relief Society room, and paid my respects to a family who had lost their son. Their son laid in a casket, dressed down in blue from the rag on his head to the shoelaces on his sneakers. It felt very contradictory for me, knowing what the young man's clothing represented, and feeling somewhat shocked at seeing the blatant use of gang paraphernalia around a room that women used to worship God. The service was touching, and I vividly recall the young mans' little brother, maybe not more than ten, speaking of the love and respect he had for his fallen brother. I could see in his eyes the path his life was going to lead due to the untimely death of his big brother. A path of lost innocence and retaliation. A path he didn't deserve to have to travel. This was the beginning of my understanding of the gray area of life. The part of life that doesn't always fit into the nice box we hold for it in our minds.
My Grandpa Jack died when Abby was small, yet some days the wound still feels freshly open. I spoke at his funeral, which was very healing for me, and I felt I was able to say things that I probably should have said aloud in life. The last time I saw him alive, he was lying in his bed. When he noticed I had come into the room, he began straightening his posture and attempting to hide his obvious discomfort. "Oh, Hi Jenny!" he said in the cheerful tone he greeted me with each time I saw him. I don't recall the words after that, just the peaceful understanding that I was loved by him.
A few years later in a Sacred Room, my Grandpa came to me again. I heard his voice and felt his breath on my left shoulder as I sat in prayer. His words were one of preparation for my future. A future which included a very tumultuous couple of years. A future he was aware of, and wanted me to know I could handle. A future that had purpose beyond my vision. I left again knowing I was loved.
Today, we mourned the loss of a friend. A woman whose kind heart touched everyone she came in contact with. She loved my kids, always being so complimentary of them, and so giving. Each time I stopped by to see Blair during the work day, I would always stop by to see her first. In fact, usually she would spot me out her window and meet me in the foyer...knowing that I carried Deak with me inside my car. She was an avid reader of this blog, and often commented to Blair about her genuine concern and love for our kids. I worried some about posting this, worried it may feel too cliche, but I know that she will be reading this where she is now, and I wanted her to know she too, was so loved.
I had a few moments to myself in the car before picking Blair up to attend her funeral this morning. While driving, a perfectly placed song, playing from a CD given to me by another friend, resonated deeply with the emotions I have been feeling throughout this week, and especially today. Our burdens here on this earth are hard. They are incomprehensibly tough and they are way, way too heavy at times. Sometimes, as this song recites, even too heavy for Superman to lift. I have had those moments, as we all have, and I have gotten through those moments only because I have had people in my life and in the heavens, willing to lift that burden off my shoulders. Even if only for a second.
I want to do that. I want to be better. I want to be the person who focuses more on lifting others' rather than being lifted. Thank you for letting me re-learn this lesson today Kristy...drink a good diet coke for me...
5 comments:
thank you for inspiring me to be a better person. Every one of your post do that for me! I want to squeeze him to death!
Kristy was loved and will be missed by our entire family(including Shamrock). Thanks for the comments on my Dad I didn't know that story, it was very neat. Not a day goes by that I don't think of him. I've felt him around several times when were having specail events or get togethers.
You say sometimes what I'm feeling....... just a whole lot better! Thanks for the love Kristy, until we meet again.
Jenny, you always make me cry. Very touching post.
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