My brother died yesterday. He wrestled with the pain of cancer and effects of treatment for most of four years. In a few days, we will remember his life, and I’m eager to go. Dichotomies fascinate me, and even though it’s uncomfortable to think about feeling joy at someone’s funeral, that happens to me most of the time.
I look for joy – along with the mourning.
My family celebrates a life lived in a pretty simple manner. There will be good food prepared by family and friends and stories shared.
It’s early March, and new growth around the place is pressing up through dry brown leaves of last fall. Living close to nature and her rhythms, I see this every year. So, at the same time John’s body is passed, I’ll smile at the gurgle of a newborn cousin. I’ll notice a new relationship growing toward marriage and scheduled between seasonal demands – joy.
John’s death is horribly sad, but I’m looking forward to hearing people share elements of his life that blessed theirs. At the same time we cry, we laugh at the antics of a younger stronger man. I’ll see people that were important to him and my life will be enriched. We’ll all be relieved we don’t have to see him suffer pain or agony anymore.
Death comes when it will. We suffer our losses. To grieve the loss of John’s life has to address the joy of his love. Only because his great joy in the love of his wife and grandkids is the sorrow also great. Joy and sorrow must go together. And as those little ones grow up, they’ll remind their mother of the joy remembered when Grandp’s is mentioned. When he knew his time was growing short, time spent with these little ones became more precious. In that joy, he felt loss.
Just as black keys on a keyboard enhance the music, so does loss enhance joy.
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Here are websites of resources with which we can oppose cancer. Let's please fight.