It wasn't strange that our priest text me--he does that often with me and others. He is very spontaneous, with many "last moment thoughts" which bring on out of nowhere invitations. So it wasn't unusual to receive this text. But to a funeral? And someone I didn't even know?
Fridays are what I call my "day off", it is the only day of the week where I have the house completely to myself, with no one home. I can come and go as I want, or lay around and watch TV without feeling guilty. I can put off housework for as long as I want. Dennis is at work and the kids are at school. So it's easy to become possessive of these days. Not only that, but I had a party to get ready for, celebrating Lucy and Henry's birthdays. We celebrate them together since they both have birthdays close together. I had planned on baking cakes all day and didn't have time for a funeral.
Or did I??
It wasn't so much that I was wrestling with a sense of obligation to our priest--he has invited me to many odd things at the last moment and he understands if I don't show up. It was more that I really hate funerals and I won't go unless I really have to. This means that I better know you well enough to make myself come to your funeral. I do not like dead bodies, I do not like seeing the heavy make up on the body. I do not like seeing sadness, I do not like the awkwardness not knowing what to say. Perhaps I am selfish in that way. But I really hate funerals. I don't even want to be there for my own.
But what made this a bit different this time is that the day before, I was at adoration and saw two pictures on a table of two different parishioners that died recently. "Please pray for the repose of the soul of..." is what it said. I thought this was a great way to remember the deceased.
So I prayed for both parishioners. One that died in a fire and the other that died of natural causes. I had been praying more for the one that died in a fire, since it was such a violent and unexpected death. But for whatever reason, I kept being drawn to the other one--Dorothy--who I knew nothing about and hadn't even realized she died had I not seen her picture. Her name kept coming out on my lips, and at one point, I even got up to stare at this lady's picture and asking her, "why am I so drawn to you??"
And then, I saw the programs laid out on a shelf for her funeral the next day. A strange thought came to me: "Maybe I should go to her funeral."
I dismissed that immediately, because as I said, I hate funerals, and avoid them as much as possible. But I couldn't shake the thought that I should go. After that, many thoughts plagued me: mainly memories of snippets of conversation with my mom, who goes to funerals often, even people she didn't know, because it is an act of mercy. And from another person who I knew (who has since died), that would go to funerals not just at her own church, but others, because she loved funerals so much. This, I thought was crazy. But she insisted they were beautiful. And then last, remembering our priest inviting the congregation to a parishioners funeral. Was this why he did it? Because one of our own died?
It got me thinking in the right direction but I still didn't want to go. I was swayed, however. I decided I would go if the Lord wanted me to go, but He would have to change my feelings about funerals.
And that was when I received a personal invitation from our priest. I guess that was the final push. So I went, even though I had cakes to bake. Admittedly, they're from a box. It's not like I make them from scratch.
It was a good funeral. Father had a nice eulogy about this nice lady who lived a very humble and ordinary life. She had "meekness and patience", he said. "Meekness is poor of spirit and poor of spirit means that you have the wealth of God," our priest said. Wow, I had never thought about it that way before. It made me want to strive to be more poor in spirit.
And four days before her own death, she too was watching the horrible fire that took the life of a fellow parishoner. She too, was praying. (Me and the kids were praying as well as we watched--I feel very bad now that I took this picture. I had no idea that there was someone still in there.)
I think what struck me most from all of this was a total change in attitude about funerals. I can't say they are my favorite thing but I understand now the duty we have in attending them. And even though it may not always be possible, how important it is to show up for them in support of the family, and as support as a fellow parishioner. After all, one of our own died. A member of our church family. We should be there to give them a proper send off, a final farewell, and to be to close the final chapter of their lives.
Did God want me to be there? I think he did. Not that my being there was anything extraordinary--no one noticed me (although our priest did, looking surprised that I actually showed up). But maybe He wanted me there because it would do some good for my soul, to remember that "burying the dead" is a corporal act of mercy. (I think--I have to look that up.)
And when I got home, I found I had plenty of time to make the cakes, still relax before getting the kids. Somehow my time to myself didn't seem so important anymore.
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