My aunt is unwell. I’m not happy about that. My aunt has always been a rock, a safe place, she has always been one of my constants. She has always been one of my Cookie People. Now she is unwell and in hospital and they are telling me she is making lists of who gets what. I’m not happy about that, not even a little bit. I want her to be firm and strong and invincible. Immortal, even.
Like everyone else, she is not. She is human. Blast it all…
(scowl)
My friend has expressed concern because I have lost so many people, have attended so many funerals in the last not-very-many months. She says she has been worrying about me.
I say there’s no need.
See, I'm lucky on two counts: a) I love a lot of people; b) so far, none of the funerals have been mine. I figure that puts me in a win-win situation. Ü
She asks how I maintain this outlook.
I had to think a long time on this, but realised it comes from home, from ‘way back, from strong and faithful people who accepted the good with the bad, who knew that life is not always a strawberry tea, who knew that the only way to get through the tough times is to hold one another up. It helps too, that my attitude has changed. I spent 34 years missing Grandma English every single day. A year ago, someone told me that when his grandmother had died he hadn't been shattered. Rather, he had stood at her coffin, smiling down at her serene face and said (surprising himself!), "This isn't 'goodbye', Grandma, it's just 'see you later'."
That made a huge difference.
Curiously enough, he told me this last year in the period between the two weeks when we lost three long-time friends and the five week period during which we held a memorial for my youngest son’s schoolmate and lost five other friends, including Garnet and Scott, both of whom we felt unready to let go of.
Something changed, too, last November when my mother’s mother died. She was A Force, y'know? Now we are bracing ourselves for another rash – four of my grown-ups are ill, are in and out of hospital, you know the drill, and we lost a friend a few days ago…there is another funeral to attend.
My daughter said something interesting a little while back.....she said, "Mum, I think every time someone dies, they make room in the world for a new life, they make room for a baby." I think I like that.
When I was 15 I found a quote that intrigued me. I've had it pinned to my board for decades and I finally understand it. 'In life, we mourn death. Is it possible that in death, we mourn life?'
I wonder.
Then there's Garrison Keillor's view: “They say such nice things about people at funerals that it makes me sad to realise that I'm going to miss mine by just a few days." How can you not laugh??? Ü
See, the thing is, we came from somewhere...we didn't just sort of spring into being only to disappear at death. No. We came from somewhere - The Other Side, The Mind Of God...call it what you like - so we have to go somewhere as well....maybe just back to where we came from.
Is that so bad?
I count myself lucky to have hurt so deeply at so many losses - I feel them all, I miss them all, I love them all still.
Lucky me. Yeah, lucky, lucky me!!!
Peace ~
Like everyone else, she is not. She is human. Blast it all…
(scowl)
My friend has expressed concern because I have lost so many people, have attended so many funerals in the last not-very-many months. She says she has been worrying about me.
I say there’s no need.
See, I'm lucky on two counts: a) I love a lot of people; b) so far, none of the funerals have been mine. I figure that puts me in a win-win situation. Ü
She asks how I maintain this outlook.
I had to think a long time on this, but realised it comes from home, from ‘way back, from strong and faithful people who accepted the good with the bad, who knew that life is not always a strawberry tea, who knew that the only way to get through the tough times is to hold one another up. It helps too, that my attitude has changed. I spent 34 years missing Grandma English every single day. A year ago, someone told me that when his grandmother had died he hadn't been shattered. Rather, he had stood at her coffin, smiling down at her serene face and said (surprising himself!), "This isn't 'goodbye', Grandma, it's just 'see you later'."
That made a huge difference.
Curiously enough, he told me this last year in the period between the two weeks when we lost three long-time friends and the five week period during which we held a memorial for my youngest son’s schoolmate and lost five other friends, including Garnet and Scott, both of whom we felt unready to let go of.
Something changed, too, last November when my mother’s mother died. She was A Force, y'know? Now we are bracing ourselves for another rash – four of my grown-ups are ill, are in and out of hospital, you know the drill, and we lost a friend a few days ago…there is another funeral to attend.
My daughter said something interesting a little while back.....she said, "Mum, I think every time someone dies, they make room in the world for a new life, they make room for a baby." I think I like that.
When I was 15 I found a quote that intrigued me. I've had it pinned to my board for decades and I finally understand it. 'In life, we mourn death. Is it possible that in death, we mourn life?'
I wonder.
Then there's Garrison Keillor's view: “They say such nice things about people at funerals that it makes me sad to realise that I'm going to miss mine by just a few days." How can you not laugh??? Ü
See, the thing is, we came from somewhere...we didn't just sort of spring into being only to disappear at death. No. We came from somewhere - The Other Side, The Mind Of God...call it what you like - so we have to go somewhere as well....maybe just back to where we came from.
Is that so bad?
I count myself lucky to have hurt so deeply at so many losses - I feel them all, I miss them all, I love them all still.
Lucky me. Yeah, lucky, lucky me!!!
Peace ~
1 comment:
My friend you have touched my heart again. Thank you for helping me to see the joy that can lie within mourning those we lost. Its definitely a perspective I haven't thought of. I too will count myself lucky to have hurt so deeply at my losses. (((HUGS))) - you're a wise woman my dear!
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