Today is one of those days when I begged Todd to change places with me. It doesn't happen often. While I believe in my heart he would last about 10 minutes as a stay-at-home parent (well, he might last a lot longer, but the kids and the house would be done-for) he does like to give me jabs about "living the good life." And, while there is the down side (barf, whining, picking up others' messes, finding others' stuff,) there are some perks (long lunches, shopping when the stores aren't busy, sticky kisses) so, I try not to complain too much. I really only get revved up for days that seem unbearable to me: when I have to take all four kids to the dentist by myself, when Benjamin and I visit the geneticist, when a new repairman is coming to the house. Also in that category: taking my kid to the funeral of another kid.
Elisabeth and I attended seven-year-old Hayden's funeral this morning. I wouldn't say attending a funeral is something to which any of us looks forward. If we are honest with ourselves, funerals are scary because they force us to realize our own mortality and to re-examine our relationships with God. Funerals make me feel weak-- weak in faith, poor in spirit, emotionally frail. "But, I'm not ready, Lord," I silently cry.
There had been no definite plans to witness the celebration of Hayden's little life. While I certainly recognize parents' and grandparents' faces from around school and school events, we do not personally know the family. He and Libby were classmates... And there were some cute stories about Hayden hanging around the lunch table, keeping his eye on our Libby.
We went to the funeral, my daughter and I, because she asked if she could go. Now, I don't claim to have all the parenting answers, but, for good or for bad, I have made it a practice to try to shield my children from unnecessary pain and heartache. Yes, death is a part of life and I believe they need to know that reality. However, we are fortunate to have all of our close family members and friends still with us. With our children still being young, Todd and I have felt it's best to leave them home when attending the funerals of our own aunts or uncles, cousins, and others.
This is the first funeral Elisabeth has ever attended. We went early and parked outside the church so I could explain what was going to happen and answer her questions. She had questions-- about who would or would not be there, if it would be like "normal" church, if there would be food. My favorite questions were: "Whoa! What's that cool car? Is it a limo? Who gets to ride in it? Can anyone buy one from a regular car dealer?" Yes, it was the hearse.
She wasn't too sure about standing in the visitation line, and didn't want to talk to Hayden's mom and dad. But she had written out a card, and we signed the guest book and looked at the many, many photos of the adorable boy. We took seats in the church, prayed, and watched as the throngs of mourners came to pay their respects. There were so many people lined up, they were finally asked to take seats, so the funeral could begin about 10 or 15 minutes late.
The songs got me. The readings got me. Hayden's sweet face, grinning up from the service program, got me. The faces of the other mommies got me. My daughter's head, resting against my arm, got me. "But, I'm not ready, Lord." It's a beautiful and humbling, but challenging, call for me to remember my life is His; my children are His; the plan is His.
Our priest shared a wonderful message. He did not have all the answers-- he said so himself. But he talked about a little boy, with a huge grin and mysterious pocket contents and a passion for "fart putty." When Hayden's dad delivered his eulogy, he reaffirmed the boy's image as inquisitive, tender, and funny. He also reminded all of us how Hayden loved to dance. I remembered I had that on video. I won't need to explain which one he is.
In honor of Hayden, please share a laugh:
No comments:
Post a Comment