Funerals…I’ve been to so many. Short ones, long ones, people I knew, people I didn’t really know, old people, young people…all were different, and yet all were oddly the same. A couple of songs, a couple of prayers, lots of tears, memories of the deceased, hugs and moments of complete silence with friends and family, reunions with people you haven’t seen since the last funeral. So today, when I drove to the funeral of a very dear friend’s brother, I thought I knew what to expect. I put tissues in my purse, knowing that when my friend broke down, I would cry with her, and if her kids broke down, I would too. Not for my own pain, but for theirs – I knew that I love them so much that seeing their tears would make my own heart ache. I settled into the pew, prayed for peace and comfort for everyone in the room, and waited for the family to come walking in. I had tears in my eyes as I saw my friend and her husband, her children, and her parents, along with other relatives I didn’t know, make their way to their seats. As the rest of us sat down and the service began, I was completely overtaken by something I didn’t anticipate. My friend’s niece, only 4 years old and now suddenly fatherless, was playing in her pew. As they played the slide show of her daddy and a picture of the two of them came up, she cried out “Look! It’s me!” At that moment, my whole emotional perspective changed. With that joyful, innocent statement, she brought me back to the day my mother died. The day my 5-year-old brain etched into my memory forever, and the one funeral I wasn’t allowed to attend. I’m sure that the strangers sitting next to me thought I was crazy – here I was at the funeral of someone I didn’t know well, completely unable to stop the huge lump in my throat that seemed to cut off my ability to breathe and make streams of tears flow down my face. This beautiful, innocent, vibrant little girl just lost her father, and she barely even got to know him. One of her earliest memories will be of the day he died, and another will be of his funeral. One day she will cry because she’ll realize that she never really knew her daddy, that all she has of him are a few scattered memories, pictures she doesn’t remember being taken, and a funeral program. When she gets her first car, she’ll know that her daddy provided it for her, and she’ll weep for how much he loved her and how she’ll never be able to thank him. When she graduates from high school, her heart will be heavy because her dad isn’t there to be proud of her. When she gets married, she’ll cry because her daddy can’t give her away. There are so many moments, so many times that she will miss him, that she will wonder about him, that she will be angry at his departure so early in her life. Sitting in that pew, seeing her big pink bow and hearing her little toddler voice, my heart broke for her pain. She’s never met me, but we now have an invisible bond, a bond forged by such profound loss that I will never forget it. So for that, for all the pain she will have and all the times no one will understand, I pray for Kayleigh. Today, tomorrow, for the rest of my life, I lift her up to the only One who can truly comfort her, my rock, my fortress, my redeemer. I pray that she can learn, as I have, that His comfort is always there, always perfect. And I thank Him for reminding me, even though it hurts, of my beautiful mother and the few memories I do have of her.
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