*Trigger warning: death, funerals, loss
My uncle passed away this week. He was my dad’s oldest brother. They were just 15 months apart and two peas in a pod. My grandma used to tell stories about all the ways they managed to get into trouble together.
The family decided not to have a memorial service.
After my mom passed last year, I took necessary steps to be better prepared for my own death. I met with an attorney to create a will and began thinking through my own final wishes.
I believe every life is worth remembering, and I have strong opinions about what I hope my own service will look like. I want everyone to have a chance to share a memory, like they did at a funeral I attended down South. I hope people will talk about the connection we shared. Absolutely no sales pitch for the gospel. But I would be honored if someone spoke of God’s lavish love. If tears brim, I hope there is freedom to let them fall, and if laughter bubbles up, may it ring loudly through the room.
A time to gather
One of my favorite things about a memorial service is the way people gather. Loved ones and distant relatives come together in moments that rarely happen otherwise.
I’ll miss gathering with my dad’s family to remember my uncle. There are many loved ones I haven’t seen in years. Perhaps this is reason enough to reach out, but it will require intention.
My uncle’s life wasn’t perfect, but it was worth remembering. I won’t pretend that I knew him especially well, but I remember stories. My dad loved to talk about their ornery adventures like intentionally rolling cars in the drained irrigation ditch and somehow dating multiple girls at the same time.
He loved his boys even though he wasn’t always around. I could hear it in the way he talked about them. He would give you the shirt off his back and was my only relative who smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. In his later years, he was the perfect Santa. After my dad passed, he made sure to call me on my birthday.
Death is part of the human experience. It can be heartbreaking, and it can be difficult to accept. Yet, there is something beautiful about gathering to celebrate a life. We tell stories. We laugh. We cry. We remember.
Perhaps that’s one of the ways love refuses to disappear.