This past Sabbath was my grandpa's memorial service. When I went down to see my grandparents I left with a wonderful feeling of peace and comfort. I knew when I'd see my grandpa again. It was sad, but also slightly calming. He seemed so at peace and so I could be too. I wrote my blog post about it and I cried. It was a releasing, refreshing cry. It was needed. My children cried with me.
Then a week later, he passed away. I cried then too. That time it was a missing him cry. But it still felt healing. That next week I processed my thoughts and moved on, so to speak. My grandpa is now pain free. The very next time he opens his eyes, he'll look into the lovely face of Jesus. It just doesn't get any better than that. And I felt comfort in knowing that.
Fast forward to this past Saturday. It was great getting together with family I hadn't seen in years. I saw that my dad looks an awful lot like my great uncle Charlie.
I got to hold my cousin's little boy.
The cousins all rehashed why we had such a great childhood playing together. It was decided that I was the best behaved. (But it was also concluded that was because I was the most boring, with my nose in a book for long periods of time.) All in all, I had a really great visit.
But then the memorial service came. The cousins rang the church bell. While entertaining because I was spending time with my cousins, it was also nerve wracking.
Then we heard people speak about how awesome my grandpa was. He was! He was an amazing man. But it hurt. And it brought all of that pain back again.
I was supposed to read my blog post. I walked up to see my grandma crying on the front row. So naturally I started crying. It went all down hill from there. I made it to the second paragraph - the part about watching my dad lose his father - and I looked up to see my dad's face. And I lost it. Jon finished the rest of the blog post. And that made me feel awful. I know that it's okay, but for some reason that made me feel like I'd failed.
I left with an empty feeling that was hard to shake.
So I've decided something. If you die, I'm not coming to your funeral. I will look at all of my pictures of you, write a blog post about how much I miss you, and pray. But I want to heal on my own terms.
And sadly in the last couple of years, I've attended way more funerals than one person should have to attend. And not one of them made me feel better. They were awful! So I'm going to take a break and heal my heart.
I'm going to write and talk, but no more funerals!