I have lost a lot of people from my life who's journey on earth ended in one way or another. Family, friends, my friends family, friends of friends, even a pet dog. Lives lost from cancer, strokes, tragic accidents, overdoses, suicide, natural causes, and our dog who got hit by a car. I attended many memorial and prayer services as well as simply stopping by the home of the deceased family to pay my respects. It was not until my friend Connor died that I attended my first Catholic funeral Mass and graveside service.
After the graveside service my dad and I walked around the cemetery. I know his intent was nothing more than just going for a short stroll and talking about the events of the day. He just wanted to get a feel for how I was holding up through everything. I had asked him what must have turned out to be some tough questions about life and death, because he kept referring me to a family friend to ask those questions to. (I would later find out from that friend that my dad probably had a tough time answering them because it brought back memories of when his mom had died when he was only 18).
We continued to walk around and look at and read headstones. I found them very interesting and even though they were all various sizes and shapes, and engraved differently, and decorated differently with fresh flowers or momento's that somehow reflected moments in that person life, I found they really all had that one thing in common. Very few of them gave any indication of the life that was lived. You could read the name. You could read no less than the year of birth and the year of death. Unless it was engraved on the headstone you could not determine what role they played in life.
I saw one that said simply "BABY GIRL - 1936", indicating born and died the same year, perhaps the same day. I saw one that said "Wilbur 1915 - 1982, indicating he had lived a long life. One read "Magaret Larson, loving wife and mother 1952 - 1991, indicating that perhaps she died suddenly, leaving behind young children. They varied so much, but not one I read left me with much information regarding the life left behind. Each one I read could have easily read "Born - Died" and told the same story to those that never knew who was buried below those life's markers.
This revelation of sorts, walking around an area designed to honor the lives of those who moved from earth's journey onto the journey we take after we die, somewhat confirmed my belief that it matters not how you died, but how you lived. There were no indications of who left in God's Grace, and there were certainly no indications of those who may be in heaven, and who may still be waiting in purgatory, burning off the remainder of their sins that followed them beyond their last breath of life on earth.
I believe the mystery lies within the dash that was the common factor in the headstones I stopped to take note of. It did not matter when they were born, as they had no control over that event in their life, and I believe it did not matter when they died, as my belief there is that we also have no control of when we die, or even how we die. That is God's plan, that is His decision, and when someone dies, I believe it was etched in stone in God's Park (as Gracie called it), or Purgatory for those of us that believe in that stopping point before God sends his angels to retrieve us from before we enter into His house, before we pass through the pearly gates of Heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3:4 : A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance.
Death brings out a sadness in ourselves that we would never know if we never experienced the loss of a loved one. The emotional ride we take ourselves on as we grieve is matched by no other journey we will make here on earth or in the afterlife. We will cry, we will be sad, we will be angry, we will demand answers, we will question our role in the loss. We will miss the life suddenly gone and we will forever search for ways to fill that void. A time to weep, a time to mourn.
When we only look at the death and fail to remember the life we keep ourselves in a state of grieving, often putting our own life on hold. The life we lost, gets lost, when we close our minds to the memories of the good times and focus only on the the date of death. I would bet none of us would have to go very deep in our hearts to remember our loved ones laugh, or the smile they displayed, or the glow in their eyes. The good times we shared, the warm hugs, the jokes we shared, the brighter days. A time to laugh and a time to dance.
It matters not how we died, what matters is how we lived. Open your heart to who he was and what he gave back to the world. Look past the dates and focus on the DASH between the date of birth and the date of death. Open your mind long enough to let go of the anger and frustration of a decision made that cannot be reversed. We all make choices and we all live, or die, by them.
To my friend Sue: We may forever disagree on our thoughts about who goes to Heaven and who does not. What we will agree on I am sure is the pain that never fades, the yearning for our loved ones back, and the emptiness we feel, is real. That time does not heal old wounds to the heart and nothing can be said to comfort what our minds refuse to let go of. I think of you and Matt often when I listen to a song by Vince Gill, 'Go Rest High On That Mountain'. I find the lyrics "You weren't afraid to face the devil" very powerful and interpret them as someone who looked the devil in the eye and dared to give his life to God. His choice. Selfish as it may seem, he decided to try peace in Heaven when it was not offered to him on earth.
Remember the DASH. It represents the best of us, the moments in his life that created the legacy he left behind. The pain and anger may not ever fully leave your heart, but let it fade, so Matt can rest in peace, and you can move forward in a world that refuses to wait up for us as we search for the faith that slipped away.
After the graveside service my dad and I walked around the cemetery. I know his intent was nothing more than just going for a short stroll and talking about the events of the day. He just wanted to get a feel for how I was holding up through everything. I had asked him what must have turned out to be some tough questions about life and death, because he kept referring me to a family friend to ask those questions to. (I would later find out from that friend that my dad probably had a tough time answering them because it brought back memories of when his mom had died when he was only 18).
We continued to walk around and look at and read headstones. I found them very interesting and even though they were all various sizes and shapes, and engraved differently, and decorated differently with fresh flowers or momento's that somehow reflected moments in that person life, I found they really all had that one thing in common. Very few of them gave any indication of the life that was lived. You could read the name. You could read no less than the year of birth and the year of death. Unless it was engraved on the headstone you could not determine what role they played in life.
I saw one that said simply "BABY GIRL - 1936", indicating born and died the same year, perhaps the same day. I saw one that said "Wilbur 1915 - 1982, indicating he had lived a long life. One read "Magaret Larson, loving wife and mother 1952 - 1991, indicating that perhaps she died suddenly, leaving behind young children. They varied so much, but not one I read left me with much information regarding the life left behind. Each one I read could have easily read "Born - Died" and told the same story to those that never knew who was buried below those life's markers.
This revelation of sorts, walking around an area designed to honor the lives of those who moved from earth's journey onto the journey we take after we die, somewhat confirmed my belief that it matters not how you died, but how you lived. There were no indications of who left in God's Grace, and there were certainly no indications of those who may be in heaven, and who may still be waiting in purgatory, burning off the remainder of their sins that followed them beyond their last breath of life on earth.
I believe the mystery lies within the dash that was the common factor in the headstones I stopped to take note of. It did not matter when they were born, as they had no control over that event in their life, and I believe it did not matter when they died, as my belief there is that we also have no control of when we die, or even how we die. That is God's plan, that is His decision, and when someone dies, I believe it was etched in stone in God's Park (as Gracie called it), or Purgatory for those of us that believe in that stopping point before God sends his angels to retrieve us from before we enter into His house, before we pass through the pearly gates of Heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3:4 : A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance.
Death brings out a sadness in ourselves that we would never know if we never experienced the loss of a loved one. The emotional ride we take ourselves on as we grieve is matched by no other journey we will make here on earth or in the afterlife. We will cry, we will be sad, we will be angry, we will demand answers, we will question our role in the loss. We will miss the life suddenly gone and we will forever search for ways to fill that void. A time to weep, a time to mourn.
When we only look at the death and fail to remember the life we keep ourselves in a state of grieving, often putting our own life on hold. The life we lost, gets lost, when we close our minds to the memories of the good times and focus only on the the date of death. I would bet none of us would have to go very deep in our hearts to remember our loved ones laugh, or the smile they displayed, or the glow in their eyes. The good times we shared, the warm hugs, the jokes we shared, the brighter days. A time to laugh and a time to dance.
It matters not how we died, what matters is how we lived. Open your heart to who he was and what he gave back to the world. Look past the dates and focus on the DASH between the date of birth and the date of death. Open your mind long enough to let go of the anger and frustration of a decision made that cannot be reversed. We all make choices and we all live, or die, by them.
To my friend Sue: We may forever disagree on our thoughts about who goes to Heaven and who does not. What we will agree on I am sure is the pain that never fades, the yearning for our loved ones back, and the emptiness we feel, is real. That time does not heal old wounds to the heart and nothing can be said to comfort what our minds refuse to let go of. I think of you and Matt often when I listen to a song by Vince Gill, 'Go Rest High On That Mountain'. I find the lyrics "You weren't afraid to face the devil" very powerful and interpret them as someone who looked the devil in the eye and dared to give his life to God. His choice. Selfish as it may seem, he decided to try peace in Heaven when it was not offered to him on earth.
Remember the DASH. It represents the best of us, the moments in his life that created the legacy he left behind. The pain and anger may not ever fully leave your heart, but let it fade, so Matt can rest in peace, and you can move forward in a world that refuses to wait up for us as we search for the faith that slipped away.
Go Rest High On That Mountain (Vince Gill)
I know your life on earth was troubled
And only you could know the pain
You weren't afraid to face the devil
You were no stranger to the rain
Go rest high on that mountain
Son your work on earth is done
Go to heaven a-shoutin'
Look for the Father and the Son
Oh, how we cried the day you left us
We gathered round your grave to grieve
Wish I could see the angels' faces
When they hear your sweet voice sing
