Death

I went to a funeral this week.

Apparently those are better than parties. At least that’s what the bible says.

Ecclesiastes 7:2: “It is better to go to a funeral than to a party. We all must die, and everyone living should think about this. Sorrow is better than laughter, and sadness has a good influence on you.”

The Message translation says: “You learn more at a funeral than at a feast— After all, that’s where we’ll end up. We might discover something from it. Crying is better than laughing. It blotches the face but it scours the heart.”

I can’t say that I prefer funerals over parties, but a good heart scouring is healthy now and then.

Mom passed away in 2020. Dad in 2023. As I approach my 68th birthday this summer, the realization that I am now the patriarch of my family is not lost on me. All things being equal, and sometimes they aren’t, I am on deck.

I’m ok with that.

You’ve probably noticed that none of us get out of this alive. At least not in the traditional sense. I remember Bob Harrington saying, “Born once, die twice. Born twice, die once.” I was a teenager and the thought of only dying once was attractive, even then.

I am not intentionally being flippant about death. It’s serious and sad and mysterious and so daggone final. But the closer it gets, the more at peace with it I become.

I remember the story of an interviewer talking to someone with a terminal illness, and they asked, “How does it feel to wake up every morning knowing you are going to die?” And the person with the illness replied, “How does it feel to wake up not knowing you are going to die?” In other words, we’re all a day closer to that inevitability. Some people just recognize it.

Baseball announcer Vin Scully once said, “He’s listed as day to day. But then again, aren’t we all?”

My dad was jogging one day when he saw a big tree up ahead, and under the tree was a German Shephard dog. He had a decision to make. Turn around and avoid the potentially dangerous dog, or keep going and hope for the best.

He kept going, and the closer he got to the dog the more fear crept into him. He was wondering if he made a mistake and was waiting for the dog to start chasing him.

That was when he realized the dog wasn’t really a dog. It was a shadow from the tree.

He immediately thought of the 23rd Psalm which says, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”

Death is kind of like that dog. Just a shadow. Nothing to be feared. Just something you pass through.

Often as we approach it, much like dad as he jogged, our fear grows.

I don’t fear the shadow.

I don’t fully understand it. I mean, how can I? The only people who have experienced it aren’t able to tell us what its like. The bible gives us some clues. And my faith fills in the gaps.

Maybe it’s because of my age, but I seem to be going to more funerals than parties these days. Celebrating the life of a friend is both difficult and therapeutic.

Sorrow may blotch my face, but tears bring cleansing and resolve, and a reminder to me about what it is important and what is not.