Funerals
Through a series of interesting (not really unfortunate) events, I started thinking back on the funerals I have attended or the deaths that have affected my life the most these 19 years of my existence.
The earliest one I remember was a friend's grandfather's funeral. The only thing I remember vividly was walking past the coffin and noticing how smooth he looked.
After that, another friend's grandmother's funeral...I was older for this one. I remembered that a lot of people cried while talking about her life, and so I cried, too.
The next one I remember is that of a family friend who was killed on September 11th, 2001. I can't believe it's almost been a decade since that day. I remember hearing testimonies and feeling sad, but it wasn't until I reflected on who he was and read more testimonies when I grew older that I cried. Even his small connection with me is something I still cherish, something I look back on now with the revelation that his teasing me was his way of connecting to me, of taking care of me. What breaks my heart now is thinking back on what his family went through, of what his family must still go through.
Thinking about my grandmother's passing brings me unpleasant memories of how young and ignorant I was. While my mother was traveling overseas to be with her mother over the summer to take care of her at the hospital before her passing, I was "burdened" with certain things, given certain responsibilities. It only occurred to me later that my mom lost her mom, that even though she was across an ocean, it still hurt. Death, even to "grown ups" is hard. Even now, whenever I wear red, I remember that my mom did not for a long time.
When my uncle died, my sister and I wrote him a letter to be read at his funeral. Our relationship with him was limited by several things, but memories of shared ice-pops, gifts of small trinkets, and stories of how he took care of our mother meant a lot to us. His life often makes me think about how different people seem to be while being so similar. Thinking of him reminds me that no matter how we are born, we are all able to love and to be loved.
The most recent one would be a good friend's father. Dying is always sad, but to me, death due to an illness is especially frustrating. It's something that's not in anyone's control, and yet it still feels like it could have been avoided.
The day this man passed away, there was a benefit concert for someone in the community who had (and is still fighting) ALS. This friend made an a capella arrangement of Coldplay's "Fix You" to be performed at this concert. His father had just died, and yet this friend walked through the door, somber, but strong. His father was the one who encouraged him to have his arrangements performed so that people could appreciate and enjoy his wonderful talent. I can't get over it. That same day. That same day his father passed away, he went to the high school and conducted and sang "Fix You". As trivial as it is looking back, it was vocal hell, trying to sing while trying not to cry.
"Tears stream down your face when you lose something you cannot replace"...these words at such a time meant ten times more what they would mean otherwise.
The theme that year was the idea of being heroes; the T-shirts had the Superman "S" on the front. As my friend stood there, more composed than all of us as we cried and cried, that "S" made so much sense to me. "Super". Super strength, super maturity, super love, super everything...
At a memorial-type event, these products that his father designed were given out. A small, cheerily decorated can with a seed inside that would sprout a sprout that had "Friends 4eva" burned or etched in. This plant is still in my dorm room, and whenever I look at it, I'm reminded of strength.
It is sad that some experiences can inspire and encourage while there are stories that cause so much grief; hearing a friend describe a classmate's recent suicide reminds me of this. Death is real. Death is so real, but life is real, too. No matter where we are, life is so much more precious. All of these remind me that life cannot be taken for granted. It absolutely cannot be wasted. Life needs to be lived.
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And with that, I must return to reading over 100 pages about Mahler, Brahms, and Vienna in the 1800s...
The earliest one I remember was a friend's grandfather's funeral. The only thing I remember vividly was walking past the coffin and noticing how smooth he looked.
After that, another friend's grandmother's funeral...I was older for this one. I remembered that a lot of people cried while talking about her life, and so I cried, too.
The next one I remember is that of a family friend who was killed on September 11th, 2001. I can't believe it's almost been a decade since that day. I remember hearing testimonies and feeling sad, but it wasn't until I reflected on who he was and read more testimonies when I grew older that I cried. Even his small connection with me is something I still cherish, something I look back on now with the revelation that his teasing me was his way of connecting to me, of taking care of me. What breaks my heart now is thinking back on what his family went through, of what his family must still go through.
Thinking about my grandmother's passing brings me unpleasant memories of how young and ignorant I was. While my mother was traveling overseas to be with her mother over the summer to take care of her at the hospital before her passing, I was "burdened" with certain things, given certain responsibilities. It only occurred to me later that my mom lost her mom, that even though she was across an ocean, it still hurt. Death, even to "grown ups" is hard. Even now, whenever I wear red, I remember that my mom did not for a long time.
When my uncle died, my sister and I wrote him a letter to be read at his funeral. Our relationship with him was limited by several things, but memories of shared ice-pops, gifts of small trinkets, and stories of how he took care of our mother meant a lot to us. His life often makes me think about how different people seem to be while being so similar. Thinking of him reminds me that no matter how we are born, we are all able to love and to be loved.
The most recent one would be a good friend's father. Dying is always sad, but to me, death due to an illness is especially frustrating. It's something that's not in anyone's control, and yet it still feels like it could have been avoided.
The day this man passed away, there was a benefit concert for someone in the community who had (and is still fighting) ALS. This friend made an a capella arrangement of Coldplay's "Fix You" to be performed at this concert. His father had just died, and yet this friend walked through the door, somber, but strong. His father was the one who encouraged him to have his arrangements performed so that people could appreciate and enjoy his wonderful talent. I can't get over it. That same day. That same day his father passed away, he went to the high school and conducted and sang "Fix You". As trivial as it is looking back, it was vocal hell, trying to sing while trying not to cry.
"Tears stream down your face when you lose something you cannot replace"...these words at such a time meant ten times more what they would mean otherwise.
The theme that year was the idea of being heroes; the T-shirts had the Superman "S" on the front. As my friend stood there, more composed than all of us as we cried and cried, that "S" made so much sense to me. "Super". Super strength, super maturity, super love, super everything...
At a memorial-type event, these products that his father designed were given out. A small, cheerily decorated can with a seed inside that would sprout a sprout that had "Friends 4eva" burned or etched in. This plant is still in my dorm room, and whenever I look at it, I'm reminded of strength.
It is sad that some experiences can inspire and encourage while there are stories that cause so much grief; hearing a friend describe a classmate's recent suicide reminds me of this. Death is real. Death is so real, but life is real, too. No matter where we are, life is so much more precious. All of these remind me that life cannot be taken for granted. It absolutely cannot be wasted. Life needs to be lived.
-------
And with that, I must return to reading over 100 pages about Mahler, Brahms, and Vienna in the 1800s...