Since this blog is obviously more for posterity than for trying to get a lot of people involved in my life, I thought I'd spend the next few weeks sharing a few of my thoughts about a wide range of things that have been on my mind. Or maybe not even that, just stuff I want to talk about. Today is the first installment, and it's a long one, but there's a reason for that. I've been thinking about death a lot lately. I'm not uber-depressed or terribly morbid (well, maybe a little of the latter ;)...but I've had a few family deaths in the last month and I'm finally ready to share my thoughts. This is my own personal memorium about Grandma and Uncle Rick, both of whom have passed away recently, and the thoughts that their passing have inspired.
On October 16, my dad's mom, my grandma Darland-Tucker, passed away. She'd had a stroke and she was older, so it wasn't a big shock she died...in fact, I mentioned in a previous post how we were able to go to her home in Peru, Indiana, and visit a bit since we were expecting the worst. What I didn't say was that she was unconscious the whole time we were there. What I didn't say was that I feel like the world's worst granddaughter because even though she only lived an hour away I haven't seen her for seven or eight years. She's never met my husband. I thought about visiting, but never really made time for it. My extended family and my core family have never really been close; we were raised very inward-looking. I have a hard time reaching outward. Everything feels like a hassle, a distraction from my life. And then our time is up and we're out of chances and I feel intense regret.
Not heartbreak. But regret. Because I never really knew my grandma. Not as an adult. She was a sweet lady. I have lots of memories when I was younger of going to her house. She and my step-grandpa would take my sisters and brother and me to Lake Mississinewa in the summers. We'd also eat a lot of pizza and coney dogs (hey, what are grandparents for?). She bought Catalina dressing just because she knew I loved it. She had a stash of cookies we used to "sneak" at night. Grandma loved to sing and play piano...in fact, if it weren't for her I probably wouldn't know how to play today, because she taught me to love it and then gave my family the piano I learned how to play on when she thought I showed promise. Grandma mostly loved to TALK. Ohmyword did she! Dad tells us stories of when he was younger...like when she picked up the phone during dinner and was gone for over an hour, and when she came back they learned that it was a wrong number...but did you know that they are related to so-and-so! Grandma was the primo (prima?) family historian. That was her truest passion. She wrote down family histories and had a bajillion boxes of photos and catalogued cemeteries and told me stories about people and most of the time I really had no idea who she was talking about. But she loved to talk, and she loved family, and I wish I had more of her records and more of her memories to draw on.
It surprised me how sad I was, not knowing this woman, not being able to claim a real relationship other than blood, when she passed away. I wish, like we all do when that day arrives, that we had more time.
On Friday the 29th, my great-aunt died. I don't think I ever met her, but she was one of my dad's favorite aunts. Her son was a race car driver. That's all I know about her. So I wasn't too saddened by her loss, but I grieve for my dad and those that knew her well.
On Tuesday, November 2, my dad's brother, Uncle Rick, passed away from esophageal cancer. Again, he'd been battling poor health for a while now, and he finally had had enough and decided to go off his nutrients/fluids. He lived a surprisingly long time after that. But even though his death did come and it wasn't a shock, it is still really sad. I don't have many memories of ANY of my uncles. One was in prison for most of my life (though he's made some AMAZING turnarounds and gives me hope for my brother), one was absent and OLD, one was in Utah, and one died a few years ago. But Uncle Rick was a cool guy. I remember IDOLIZING my cousins, Danielle and Ricky, when I was younger. They were athletic and COOL. They had a sand volleyball court in their backyard. They played with us! Uncle Rick had a lot of cool toys. He furnished his basement. Mostly, though, I remember that he was a quiet, gentle kind of man that sort of reminded me of my own dad back in the day. Another generation of silent worker-confidant-my-word-is-my-bond kind of man that you just don't find often anymore. He loved to fish. I didn't. He loved to work with his hands (he was in construction), and I learned at his funeral that he was the kind of worker you couldn't rush, but you still wanted him doing your work because it was QUALITY. Later in life, he found Jesus and became an associate pastor (or something like that), and spent a lot of his life inspiring others and spreading the word of God's love...perhaps especially when he was diagnosed with cancer. He was a Vietnam vet. He liked John Denver. He was all right. :) His funeral was filled with amazing memories by people who knew him. I wouldn't have been able to say much of anything.
Because of this, my sister and I decided that (a) we're planning our own funerals NOW so that (heaven forbid) should something happen unexpectedly no one will have to worry about that, and (b) we're going to throw funerals for family members BEFORE they die so that we can get to know them. :)
SO. My funeral. I want it to be short and sweet and filled with song. I want "Each Life that Touches Ours for Good" and "Families Can Be Together Forever" as the opening and closing songs, respectively. I want "Consider the Lilies" sung by a quartet (or double-quartet). I want a solo or trio of "Nearer My God to Thee" sung. Maybe an instrumental piece or something. I want Lindsey, Paul, and any family member who wishes it to have 5 minutes max each to share a favorite memory or a few thoughts. Then, I want it to be over. Buried. I love the poetry of cremation, but I don't want that for me personally. Then, I want everyone to come to our home and be with Paul and eat lots of food and play happy music and share stories and laughs and be happy.
But hopefully, Paul and I have decided, we'll be 80 years old and die in our sleep or a car accident or something TOGETHER so no one has to worry about missing the other and no one mourns the death of anyone so young. In that case, go to my mom's house ('cause she'll probably STILL be around) and do all the partying there. And I'll be watching, so you better make it the party of the century!
My thoughts on death: what a miracle. I really, really do have a testimony that death isn't the end. It's almost something to look forward to, in a way. I know that God lives and I believe that moving on, back to His presence, is a wonderful thing and a necessary step in our eternal journey. "To die would be an awfully big adventure!" But I think life is a great miracle, too. And we only get one shot at it. We never know when it'll be over. We never know what people will remember, think, say...and if I were to die right now, I would have SO MANY REGRETS. I think of all the time I waste in a thousand different ways and I know that I'm nowhere near ready to die. And I'd probably only have a handful of people at the funeral. We inward-looking people don't make friends easily. And no one will know us well enough to mourn us when we're gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for leaving some love!