Funerals

Tough Holiday. Ten days before Christmas my brother in-law, Stan, passed away. And then a good friend, Kelly, who drove out to the visitation to be there for us, was heading home when she was hit by an oncoming truck and killed. Kelly was a mother of two young boys.
Brutal.
Lots of stuff stirred up by these two tragedies. Anger, sadness, shock, grief… The whole Elizabeth Kübler-Ross catalog.
But also, gratitude that they were in our lives and we got to know them and laugh with them…
In my better moments I vow to live life fully, with nothing left on the table, and make sure I die, as George Bernard Shaw vowed, completely used up and spent, having given everything.
I love that idea.

Scares the crap out of me. But in a good way.
In my darker moments I wonder about the meaning of it all. There’s something awful about having a couple of wonderful people pass away, gone, dead… while others, criminals, crooks, shysters, psychopaths, etc., still live on.
Of course many others have wondered about that ‘injustice’ and the unfairness of life and death. I know I went there for a long time when my father died.
There’s obviously no simple answer that would have satisfied me and taken away the pain. But I went there anyway.
Why?
What was the payoff? Because there was a payoff. There’s always a payoff.
Especially for things we do repeatedly.
(People who stay in horrible relationships, or lousy jobs, and yet do nothing but complain, are getting all kinds of payoffs. Everything from being able to blame someone else and therefore avoid responsibility (Oh, I love that one) to having drama and excitement in one’s life. And we all know Drama Queens and Drama Kings.)
The payoff was being able to feel sorry for myself and have others feel sorry for me. After all, everyone’s father dies eventually.
And yet I was able to spin my father’s death in such a way that everyone could feel extra sorry for me. It helped that he was a pretty great man.
Problem was, seeking pity is kind of, well, pathetic.
Being admired is way more rewarding, but more work.
Cause you have to actually do something and/or manage yourself and how you are ‘being.’ Being sad and forlorn in the face of tragedy is way easier than being strong and inspiring. It’s just that in the long run, it didn’t leave me feeling great about myself.
I couldn’t quite figure out why.
Then one day I realized… this wallowing certainly wasn’t what my father would have done.
The moment I realized that, everything shifted.
And that’s when I really understood, in my bones, what everyone means when they say at funerals, “They will live on through us and our actions.”
Sure I’d always understood the concept, and it was a lovely ideal. But when I finally took it on, and did what it took to be the way my father had been, I realized what it must have taken him to be so great.
I mean, my Dad lived through the Depression; me? I had to move my office into the house for two years when things were tight.
My Dad lost his mom at an early age; I’m having dinner with my mom tonight.
My Dad fought in WW-2 and killed enemy soldiers in close quarter fighting; I was in a fight once in Grade 6.
So I think about my friend and my relative who died over the holidays… and how to honour them, by being as gracious, kind, hard working and involved in life as they were, I am intimidated.
I want to retreat.
“I’m sad. I’ve lost two people in a few weeks. Poor me.”
I found myself doing what I did when my Dad died, sharing my sad story with anyone and everyone. Then I realized what I was doing, and stopped myself.
I’m not suppressing emotions now, I’m not putting up a false front. I’m just not pandering for pity.
It’s what Stan and Kelly would have done.