When I was a child I was not allowed to attend funerals. My parents never attended them either actually, except when they had absolutely no choice. The only funerals I remember them attending were for their parents, and they didn’t want to do that. My paternal grandfather was the first to go when I was in fourth grade. We made the trek to Texas for the funeral, but I was left with a baby sitter during the actual service. My cousins all went, but my parents didn’t want to “upset” me.
The next time I can remember having an issue over a funeral was when I was a senior in high school. Three of our best and brightest students had graduated the year before and gone to Auburn. In my day, at that inner city school, very few kids went off to college. Going to the University of Alabama was about as far as anyone went. When these three decided to head to the Plains and attend Auburn University it caused quite the stir. In the spring of their freshman year of college (my senior year of high school) they went with a new friend they had made, for a trip to the beach. On the return trip to Auburn they were involved in a horrific car accident which killed three of the four kids in the car, two of the three people from my school. The lone survivor was severely injured and was never the same again. Our school held a memorial service in our auditorium, in honor of our classmates. But my parents did not let me go to school that day, again they did not want me to be “upset.” (Trust me- I was already extremely upset!)
When I married Tim at the age of 26 I had never been to a funeral. Tim on the other hand had been to many, even serving as a pall bearer several times. Eventually someone we knew died and he assumed I would accompany him to the funeral. My parents refusal to let me attend such an event had me scared not only of going to a funeral, but about death in general. Not being Christians, my father held to the idea that once you were dead, nothing was left except your body to decay and whatever memories people had of you. I was terrified to attend my first funeral.
Of course, it was not as bad as I imagined. And now that I am a Christian, I believe there is more for us after death. I have now been to many funerals, of friends, of acquaintances, of the very old, and the way too young. I still can not look if it is an open casket, and when the family stoically leaves the service I always tear up, but I always learn something from each funeral I attend.
Yesterday I attended another funeral. The woman was a fellow church member, the mother of a friend, and someone I admire. All through the service as the minister talked about her past life I thought to myself, I want to be like that when I grow up. I want people to have those kinds of thoughts and memories about me. I want to pass away after a meaningful, full life, surrounded by friends and family when I have spent 95 years being a blessing on this earth.
A life like that doesn’t happen by hiding in your house, or backing down from a challenge. I won’t get there by refusing to help others or thinking only of myself. I won’t get there by sitting passively by when I see an injustice. To have a life well spent, I believe I have to use any and all talents I have been given. I have to push myself mentally and physically to go a few notches past what I think I am capable of. I have to do varied things, try new things and work on perfecting the old things I know how to do already.
The last few months have been tough, hurting all of the time wears you down. But knowing I want 40 more years of laughter and love makes me push on. It makes me walk and stretch and do all I can, even when it hurts. It makes me do a play even when I know I probably should have stayed comfortably in my home. It makes me go teach drama, even when I feel so discouraged that I cry on the way home and want to quit. I owe it to myself, future generations of women, and to the women who have gone before to push forward. Realistically, nothing I do may ever matter to anyone. But if when I am gone, someone can sit in the congregation and want to be a better person because of what is said about me at my funeral, then I guess that is pretty good. If I can leave this earth having been happy and having made someone else happy, I will be OK with that.
