(no subject)
It's funny how the Kozikowski Funeral Home has become a second home of sorts. Friends tell me that they haven't had many experiences with death, but in a way, death is my life. It makes me think of Buffy the Vampire Slayer season 5 when the first slayer tells Buffy "Death is your gift." Granted, death is not my gift in the way it was Buffy's, but I've come to see that in a way, death is a gift. It is through death that I have learned so much about life and have come to appreciate the lessons we learn through experiencing death. It may sound morbid, but it's really not.
The way I look at it, death is a celebration of life. And I know that this world is not all there is. But we are here for a purpose. Human beings are relational beings. We interact, we love, we form friendships, and we teach each other. God uses our relational nature to teach us more about Him. It is through the relationships I've had change through death that have taught me a lot.
I've been a part of very long, involved dying processes. Some last years, some a few months. There was time and we knew what was coming, not exactly when, but we knew what road we were headed down. I think about it now and that the care that my grandparents and uncle required during the last part of their lives is the kind of care I constantly need from Jesus. My mother took care of her family with an unconditional love. She gave so much of herself, all out of love. Too often I try to do things on my own, when in reality I am incapable of doing those things and instead need to rely on Jesus to take care of me.
I've learned about life, I've learned about love, and most importantly, I've learned about God through my experiences. Through everything, even this extremely painful weekend, God was there right with me. Right there. He always is. He was holding me as I cried and wiping away my tears. Too often I don't let God comfort me and instead feel that there is something wrong with my mindset, that it is all me that needs to change. But in reality, the only change I need is to let go.
This weekend was difficult. The choices my grandfather made in life hung over his death, but we all are sinners. As Romans says, "For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God." All. Not some, all. No mistakes are bigger than others. Sin is sin and we cannot pass judgment on others, that is reserved for God and God alone. My heart was just broken because of the fact that my grandfather deserved more respect than his Jerry Springeresque funeral. But again, that is all part of letting go and letting God tend to my wounds.
Death is so familiar to me. Bodies don't scare me because that is all they are, bodies. Souls are eternal. Bodies are not. Everything about the funeral process is so familar to me, the casket surrounded by flower arrangements, the overtly sweet flower smell permeating the air. The kneeler in front of the casket and the time spent paying last respects. The arrangement of chairs filling the room, the ornate golden chairs sitting at the front of the rows in our usual funeral home.
We've done six funerals at that funeral home. I feel like we should have a frequent buyer card or something. Maybe we should be getting stamps and by the seventh funeral will be free. Again, this all probably sound fairly morbid, but it's really not to me. I don't expect people to pass, it just kind of happens.
One of the things that struck was the ritual behind funerals. Watching the priest use a bottle to sprinkle holy water onto the casket, baptizing my grandfather into death as we are baptized into Christ's death. It's in the death of Christ that we find new life and it is when we die to ourselves that we truly live.
I was comfortable in the funeral home with the open casket. It was the closed casket with the finality that really set things in. Making the walk across the street, in a quiet procession. It frustrated me how matters surrounding my grandfather's funeral involved so much dipolomacy and various issues could not be put aside as a sign of respect for the dead. But as I learned this summer, forgiveness involves accepting the consequences of another's sin.
I'm okay now. This weekend I was torn up inside because I knew my grandfather deserved more respect. But it's all about letting go. My only regret is that I was not more composed to honor my grandfather. I would have liked to do the readings at mass, but with where my heart was I knew that I would have just broke down. So I brought up the communion gifts. As Carol, one of the funeral directors said, I was my grandfather's only grandchild. He would have wanted me to be involved in some way.
I guess I just wonder about how he would feel about how everything played out. But I can't go there. I spend too much time looking to the past when I should be looking to the future. The past has happened and nothing can be done to change what has already ocurred. But if we look to the future and press forward, we can continue to run our individual races in a way to receive the ultimate prize at the end.
The way I look at it, death is a celebration of life. And I know that this world is not all there is. But we are here for a purpose. Human beings are relational beings. We interact, we love, we form friendships, and we teach each other. God uses our relational nature to teach us more about Him. It is through the relationships I've had change through death that have taught me a lot.
I've been a part of very long, involved dying processes. Some last years, some a few months. There was time and we knew what was coming, not exactly when, but we knew what road we were headed down. I think about it now and that the care that my grandparents and uncle required during the last part of their lives is the kind of care I constantly need from Jesus. My mother took care of her family with an unconditional love. She gave so much of herself, all out of love. Too often I try to do things on my own, when in reality I am incapable of doing those things and instead need to rely on Jesus to take care of me.
I've learned about life, I've learned about love, and most importantly, I've learned about God through my experiences. Through everything, even this extremely painful weekend, God was there right with me. Right there. He always is. He was holding me as I cried and wiping away my tears. Too often I don't let God comfort me and instead feel that there is something wrong with my mindset, that it is all me that needs to change. But in reality, the only change I need is to let go.
This weekend was difficult. The choices my grandfather made in life hung over his death, but we all are sinners. As Romans says, "For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God." All. Not some, all. No mistakes are bigger than others. Sin is sin and we cannot pass judgment on others, that is reserved for God and God alone. My heart was just broken because of the fact that my grandfather deserved more respect than his Jerry Springeresque funeral. But again, that is all part of letting go and letting God tend to my wounds.
Death is so familiar to me. Bodies don't scare me because that is all they are, bodies. Souls are eternal. Bodies are not. Everything about the funeral process is so familar to me, the casket surrounded by flower arrangements, the overtly sweet flower smell permeating the air. The kneeler in front of the casket and the time spent paying last respects. The arrangement of chairs filling the room, the ornate golden chairs sitting at the front of the rows in our usual funeral home.
We've done six funerals at that funeral home. I feel like we should have a frequent buyer card or something. Maybe we should be getting stamps and by the seventh funeral will be free. Again, this all probably sound fairly morbid, but it's really not to me. I don't expect people to pass, it just kind of happens.
One of the things that struck was the ritual behind funerals. Watching the priest use a bottle to sprinkle holy water onto the casket, baptizing my grandfather into death as we are baptized into Christ's death. It's in the death of Christ that we find new life and it is when we die to ourselves that we truly live.
I was comfortable in the funeral home with the open casket. It was the closed casket with the finality that really set things in. Making the walk across the street, in a quiet procession. It frustrated me how matters surrounding my grandfather's funeral involved so much dipolomacy and various issues could not be put aside as a sign of respect for the dead. But as I learned this summer, forgiveness involves accepting the consequences of another's sin.
I'm okay now. This weekend I was torn up inside because I knew my grandfather deserved more respect. But it's all about letting go. My only regret is that I was not more composed to honor my grandfather. I would have liked to do the readings at mass, but with where my heart was I knew that I would have just broke down. So I brought up the communion gifts. As Carol, one of the funeral directors said, I was my grandfather's only grandchild. He would have wanted me to be involved in some way.
I guess I just wonder about how he would feel about how everything played out. But I can't go there. I spend too much time looking to the past when I should be looking to the future. The past has happened and nothing can be done to change what has already ocurred. But if we look to the future and press forward, we can continue to run our individual races in a way to receive the ultimate prize at the end.