Emotional couple of weeks ...
Last week I got the news that my cousin had died. It wasn't unexpected and it was a release from pain, and if I'm totally honest - that he survived all the dumb things to get to the age he did was remarkable, but still the news was a blow. Then I recieved a call from one of my ex's aunts (I introduce the aunts to people as my aunts, I kept them in the divorce. It's kind of true - these two elderly, very religious ladies gently and proactively, kept me in their lives.) One of the aunts had died, it was very sudden, and although I could be grateful she didn't suffer, and linger - still the loss was immense.
This week was the funerals.
For the aunt, it was a hyper religous one and a half hour long service in the beautiful old church where she had lead the choir for over sixty years. The priest had not only known her personally for many years, but had been with her when she died, having given her the last rites ... Oddly I sat in the church, and listened to this service and felt nothing. I know good things were said but the whole ceremony felt like a theatrical event, the words said by rote; meaningless, altered, stretched and sung in ways that made them near incomprehensible. There was no connection, no emotion. I, who cry at sad adverts, found myself dry eyed at the funeral service for a woman I love very much.
By comparison my cousin's funeral the next day, held at the funeral home and conducted by the funeral director who had never met my cousin, was respectful and deeply personal. My cousin had written a poem that the director read, telling us he was driving his V8 in a direction he'd never gone before; leaving his love with us always, while he went off for this very long road trip. My cousin's flaws and dumb life choices were honestly acknowledged, along with the equally deep and abiding love we had for him and the trust he'd earnt, that always kept us hoping that one day he'd beat off his demons. The mourners were invited to come up if they had anything they wished to share. So many spoke freely about their connection to him, and the loss he would be to them. There wasn't a dry eye in the room - including those of the funeral director and his staff.
This week was the funerals.
For the aunt, it was a hyper religous one and a half hour long service in the beautiful old church where she had lead the choir for over sixty years. The priest had not only known her personally for many years, but had been with her when she died, having given her the last rites ... Oddly I sat in the church, and listened to this service and felt nothing. I know good things were said but the whole ceremony felt like a theatrical event, the words said by rote; meaningless, altered, stretched and sung in ways that made them near incomprehensible. There was no connection, no emotion. I, who cry at sad adverts, found myself dry eyed at the funeral service for a woman I love very much.
By comparison my cousin's funeral the next day, held at the funeral home and conducted by the funeral director who had never met my cousin, was respectful and deeply personal. My cousin had written a poem that the director read, telling us he was driving his V8 in a direction he'd never gone before; leaving his love with us always, while he went off for this very long road trip. My cousin's flaws and dumb life choices were honestly acknowledged, along with the equally deep and abiding love we had for him and the trust he'd earnt, that always kept us hoping that one day he'd beat off his demons. The mourners were invited to come up if they had anything they wished to share. So many spoke freely about their connection to him, and the loss he would be to them. There wasn't a dry eye in the room - including those of the funeral director and his staff.