Each life that touches ours for good
Reflects thine own great mercy, Lord
Thou sendest blessings from above
Through words and deeds of those who love
Death has never been one of my trials in life. My grandfather died when I was five. I lived in Utah, he in California. I have only one memory of him. My grandmother died just after I turned nine. I have a few more vague memories of her. All I remember of her funeral though is running around playing with my cousins.
My next experience with death didn’t come until I was twenty one years old. A neighbor girl who was three or four years older than me was hit by a car. I went to her funeral with my mom, even though I hadn’t spoken to the girl in years and years and years. It seemed like I should. Her funeral was open casket, in spite of the car accident. Even through the makeup she looked bruised and swollen. I’ve never gone to a viewing or up to the casket at a funeral since.
Since I’ve been married to Wyatt I’ve had more experience with death: Wyatt’s grandmother, whom I had met half a dozen times over the years; Uncle Stan; a friend of Wyatt’s from college, whom I’d only ever met once; and a baby girl of Wyatt’s friend – sadest for me was the baby girl, even though I’d never met her. I have a baby girl.
Then two months ago Kathe passed away. I’ve never written about it here because . . . like most life changes, it takes me a long time to process such things. When such life altering things occur, I tend to think about it ALOT, and talk about it a little. But then yesterday I got the news that my neighbor who lived behind me all growing up, and who was my mom’s dear friend, passed away. Now having two people in my life pass away with whom I actually had relationships – it’s made me cognate my feelings on such events.
While death has always been bewildering to me, my own death has never scared me. I can think of one instance where death seemed a very legitimate outcome to my predicament (I was in a crash landing in a plane once – maybe someday I’ll tell that story), and as I sat waiting for the outcome, which was out of my hands, I remember not feeling nervous or overcome . . . just . . . okay. Perhaps that was the spirit giving comfort because the outcome would be okay. But really, and when ever I have ever thought seriously about my own death, I’ve never felt anything but okay. That isn’t to say death is something I would welcome, especially at this point in my life. I have so many things in this life that I look forward to . . . Olivia’s first day of kindergarten, and Calvin’s first scout award and Olivia’s wedding and Calvin’s mission and my first grand baby, etc. etc. etc.
But part of what has been bewildering about death has been the whole “who do I know in Heaven?” thing. And I get that I had relationships with people before I came to earth, and I get that there’s a part of the ‘eternal love’ that I just don’t get that makes my progenitors love me even if we’ve never had a relationship. I know there’s a lot to it that my finite mind cannot comprehend. But seeing as I’m one who avoids crowds, and generally feels shy and overwhelmed in such situations, and seeing as Heaven – to me – seems like it must be a crowd, with so many people to meet and greet, that part has always made me feel . . . overwhelmed.
When Kathe died, among the many thoughts and feelings I had about the event, one was: “Oh, I hope she comes to meet me when I die. Then at least I’ll know someone.”
Holy Cow! I’m actually crying while I’m writing this. Does this sound like teary material? I didn’t think so.
Now that Sharon (my neighbor) has died too, Heaven seems like a little more friendly place. Now I have two friends to talk to.
