All week I’ve been dreading attending the funeral of my friend, Carol. How do you reconcile the death of someone your own age when there is so much still to DO, so much planned, so many years of experience still to come? When you know that person didn’t want to go, wasn’t ready to go, and went in such a blindingly fast and unjust way? Maybe no one is ever REALLY ready to go, but I suspect that when you’re 90 it’s easier to accept than when you’re half that.
The weather today was changeable. It kept changing. It rained and sunned and clouded. The lilacs are still out and the pansies are still bright because it’s been pretty chilly lately. The chapel was lovely: small and cozy and warm with wood paneling and lots of candles. And lots and lots of flowers. I wore a skirt for her. I haven’t worn a skirt since my brother got married and, in fact, it was the same one. I didn’t want to wear black, because Carol was all about COLOR. So I wore lavender and even though the skirt had a black background, it was flowered all over with lavender and pink flowers.
There was a violinist that played several songs, one of which, Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor, nearly tore my heart out. But it wasn’t until the song chosen for everyone to sing by Carol’s daughter: You Are My Sunshine started, that everyone really lost it. I defy you to try and sing “please don’t take my sunshine away” at a funeral without sobbing.
I don’t feel relief that it’s over because all I can think about is the fact that for her family it’s NOT over. It’s just begun.
And I look around at my own cozy life and my good job and my beautiful children and the circle of friends and family around me and think: nothing is certain. There are no guarantees.
But when I wake up tomorrow, the sun will be shining and the lilacs will still be blooming. And that’s something, after all.
Brimming Barrelfuls of Belated Birthday Wishes to nannergo!