You Need Not Die Alone

The other day a friend of mine lay to rest his oldest son. I had run into this man at a local store and I had invited him to share a lunch with some former co-workers/friends and I the next day. It was then that he informed me that he was burying his son on that day and time. I expressed my condolences and talked for a short time then parted.

When I returned home, I told my wife about the encounter and said that I wanted to attend graveside burial. What I didn’t know and my friend failed to inform me was that his son had died last November in Florida. They had decided to wait until he and his wife returned home here in Michigan in the spring to burying him.

Maybe his reasoning for not telling me was to spare himself the re-living of how his son had died. I still don’t know what had taken place, but having known his son and some destructive habits that he had acquired I was reasonably sure that I knew and he may have known that I was aware, and left it alone. But I knew that he was not looking forward to the next day and I could see it in his face and his speech. You the reader, must know that he and his son had some fairly rocky history over the years, but still, it was his son and that would never change.

When the day arrived, it arrived with a fury of wind and torrential down pours. As I stood in our living room looking out the window at mid-morning, I begin to question where or not I should go. To myself I question where or not they would attempt this in this terrible weather. My wife, who is very perceptive, said to me, why don’t you just send him a card I believe that that will have just as much meaning as you standing there in the rain and cold plus the card will have a lasting note of sentiment. That pretty much made up my mine and that is what I did. I also had lunch with my friends, but I still had some feelings of guilt.

I wondered how many other families were doing the same for their loved ones where no one showed. I wondered if the deceased was looking down and was sadden that his death didn’t deserve the meager respect that would bring a person or persons to bid him farewell. I hope he knew that at least I was thinking about him, his life and his family on that day. I pray that he knows that to be true. I know that I will not let this opportunity to express my grief at someone’s lost again.

“A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth. It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart.” Ecclesiastes 7:1-2

Have you ever had one of those days?

Have you ever had one of those days? You know like a Sunday morning. The alarm rings longer than it should have and as you roll over to shut it off, you realize its insistent cry. Our yearly time change from one more hour or less to sleep in or get up. You bolt from your warm and cozy bed. First things first, the coffee then a quick shower.

Secondly, what do I wear that I didn't wear last Sunday, or the church dinner during the past week. Decisions and the lack of coffee are not getting you any closer to making this monumental decision. As you stumble out of the closet and head for the kitchen a wave of anxiety floods over you as the fog in your primitive brain begins to recede and lets you know that you are one of the greeters this morning. You quicken your pace following the aroma of brewing coffee, take a corner to close, slamming your hip into a counter top and the mornings color of bright sunshine quickly turns a bright shade of red. But you press on. You have a need and pain wasn't it. You grab a mug for coffee and stop and stare at the coffee maker as it decides that this mornings brew will take a little longer. I need coffee you scream and grab the coffee pot from under its brew master and pour a cup of the hair of the dog that should have bit you last night.

You begin to see more clearly, your brain begins to hum and the pain in your hip has taken on a new feeling. But pain never the less. Back to the closet where you stand staring at the clothes, sipping your coffee. Nothing, I got nothing. What can I wear. Dark shirt and pants? No, you are greeting people, not sending them to the dungeon. How about something bright, maybe that shirt your Aunt Bertha got you in Brazil. No, it makes you look like the last member of a mariachi band that went south without you. Come on you say out loud, this is not that hard. After a item by item check, you settle on a white shirt, dark trousers and a tie. Not exactly GQ but you can live with it. The dressing part goes without a hitch. Now the part that should be an Olympic event. Tying a tie.