Yesterday our little family attended a funeral for a beloved relative who lived up in Hamden, Connecticut. She was 96 and cool as sh*t. I mean, this lady was really, so super cool. One of her nieces wrote a beautiful eulogy to commemorate her life. It was extraordinary to listen to. She was a teacher, a sister, a daughter, and aunt, a friend, an EVERYTHING. She traveled the world and read books and shared her incredible heart with so many people. The church was packed. And while that was a sight to see, I mostly felt grateful that so many people could hear the words spoken about her. Because, wow. What a life.
Hubs and I took LM1, LM2, and LM3 to all the services. The kids were understandably super curious. At ages 9, 7, and 5, their questions seemed endless. They wanted to know where her body was. What had happened to it? How do they move that big box (the casket) around everywhere? Who digs the grave? How many shovels do they need? When you dig a hole, do you find the other caskets of the other people buried down there, too? Who drives the digger truck?
I was thankful for a closed casket service. But we’ve been to a handful of open ones, which prompted the children to ask, why couldn’t they see her? Why was the box closed? (they kept calling it a box). Who will die next? Whose funeral will we attend the next time? And when she died, did her soul float into the body of a new baby? Which baby was it?
I was so thankful for the curiosity of my children. I’ve always felt that it’s important to bring children to funerals. For one, it’s important to see every part of life, even the not-so pleasant parts. It’s especially important to have the innocence of children available to grieving adults. We just need them, don’t we? The kids have no idea what huge feelings we have going on, but their very presence is a gift and a miracle.
Their curious minds also kept the service a little light. There’s no anger or confusion or denial when curiosity is afoot. It’s so innocent. I didn’t need to cry my eyes out all day when I was answering their questions, watching them, and tending to their needs (“Mom, I’m hungry, Mom, I have to poop, Mom, my tights are falling down and I can’t pull my underwear up”). This is to say that I bawled my eyes out once I got home and found the peaceful quiet of our home, where all my big feelings are welcome and much more comfortable to bear.
Yesterday, there was peace knowing that our dear aunt found her final rest. But even more peace came from the curiosity of the children. If I could approach each day with their wonder, how much better might my life be? Strip away fear, confusion, anger, or pain. I can redirect on curiosity, and find peace. There’s a great big world out there with many outstanding questions. Maybe, just maybe, I can be reminded to keep asking.
What brought you peace this week? Share the peace.
4 the Love of Peace 