Humans are strange creatures. This was never more true than at a funeral. We seem to be big on community grief, which seems strange to me in a people that seem to be constantly finding ways to distance themselves from each other, all while believing that 'social networking' brings us closer.
I am not generally a huggy person, nor do I like to share my grief. I try to keep my sadness to myself, and sort of revel in it in private. I share my anger and excitement heartily, often to my own detriment, but my sadness I keep for myself. I was shattered twice today and find myself seeking an outlet to share some of it, lest I fill my own reservoirs so completely they are overwhelmed and my carefully crafted barriers collapse and send a wave of sorrow onto those around me.
I don’t mind attending funerals, having already attended so many of them. I learned very young that they are a part of life and cannot be escaped. I often plan my own in my head, when I hear a song I like, or a quote or poem. I see something at funerals, that evokes such emotion in me that I can’t hide it, or avoid it. While I normally see all the selfish stupidity of most people, funerals show a different side of people. Most people in the room are crying, or tring to Blink back the tears as they listen to the memories shared by the family and friends of the dearly departed. I enjoy this part of funerals, even if it is for someone I didn’t know well. The courage it takes to stand in front of a crowd of friends, and family who have lost something so dear to them and try to share the love you felt for that person to a crowd is not something most people would do willingly. The best part it, it need not be perfect or superbly written. Only truly heartfelt, and sincere. Everyone in the room will take something different from the words spoken, but all will feel the sorrow you release.
The funeral I attended today wasn’t the prettiest, or most grand I have attended but the sincere outpouring of genuine love and loss in the room hit me in the chest so hard I lost my breath. The grief from the loss of a dearly loved little man was so thick it was a tangible substance, and I found myself unable to prevent the tears from rolling down my cheeks. I then, naturally I suppose, start to think of my own family. My Mother, Sister, Brothers and begin to dread the thought of having a service for them; Having to face the loss of one of them. I can’t even imagine. I was asked one long ago how I ‘got over’ losing my father. I have no more answer now than I did then. I lived in a fog for months, and missed him every day for years. I still cry for him on his birthday and the anniversary of his death or on occasions when one wishes their parents to be present and bear witness to a deed well done (look Ma, no hands!). If I even begin to think about losing my Mom I start to cry so hard my throat stays sore for hours afterwards. Facing the thought of her mortality and the absolute isolation I will be left with upon her departure wounds me deeply.
I wish we could have a wake for ourselves, before we died. Fill a dimly lit room with candles and flowers and soft music and simply share our love with those we care about, while looking at pictures and drinking whiskey. Tell each other all the things we appreciate and never thought to mention about those around us and how things great and small, intended and unconscious have made a difference in our lives. But we never do, because funerals are seemingly our last chance to say it out loud where they may hear it. Even though we all know the funeral is not for the one who has died, but those of us left behind to cope without them.
