In the midst of death we are in life
Thursday, November 28, 2013 at 07:18PM On Monday morning we farewelled our friend in a ceremony that was fittingly real (about the tragic nature of his death), hopeful (because ultimately he, and most of us there believe in a God of love who is bigger than any tragedy), funny (as we recalled his sense of humour), full of the beauty of art and music (both of which he loved and was good at) and BIG. I wonder if he would have been surprised to see the hundreds who crammed into the church so that there was standing room only, filling the incense-laden air with the quiet sobs and gentle laughter that happen at a good funeral. The combination of Anglican and Uniting Church worship leadership melded seamlessly, befitting his shared allegiances. All of us there were humbled by his 17-year-old daughter speaking, not of anger but of hope and gratitude.
The morning started cool, but the sun emerged hot and burning as we milled around after the service, being served food and cups of tea by the stalwart ladies of two church communities, talking, laughing, crying, hugging. So many hugs.
A couple of hours after we got home, we were off again, to the airport this time. Paddy and Ally, our son and his fiancée, who have been living in the UK for three years, were flying in.
I am always superstitiously afraid of looking forward too enthusiastically and repeatedly to a longed-for event. I try not to anticipate happy things, believing somehow that if I dwell on them too much in advance, something will go wrong and they won’t happen. The thought of having all my offspring in the same country again was so delicious I tried to banish it from my mind. Following hard on the heels of our friend dying, the kids’ homecoming had me more paranoid than ever about the hovering ever-presentness of death – something I am fairly obsessed with at the best of times.
Arrive they did, however, walking through those tantalizing metal doors that open and close, disgorging dishevelled and bemused looking long-distance travellers who are not the ones we are waiting for, over and over until at last it is them, and we are hugging more hugs and shepherding them and their laden trolley to where we have parked the car.
I was relieved and thrilled to see them, but in an emotionally understated way, flattened and exhausted by the shock and grief of the week and the massive funeral that morning.
Next day, however, sitting at my office desk in the city, there was a gradual seeping in of pure, uncomplicated happiness at the thought they were home, at our house! I rang to make sure – were they really back? Were they really there? Were they really staying? Slowly I let myself believe and be deeply happy in the joy of the moment and the day, because who knows what will happen tomorrow?
When I got home at six, they were there still, a welcoming party with the kettle on and teapot at the ready. At some stage we put together a meal and cleaned up, but basically, we started talking at six, and the next time we looked at the kitchen clock, it was half past eleven.
The juxtaposition of these two events – one so grief-laden, one so joyous, left me marvelling at life’s richness. The price of having a rich life – being deeply involved with a large circle of people, is that inevitably you are caught up in a lot of pain. You also exposed to a great deal of joy. And with both emotions, you have a lot of people to share them with.
Reader Comments (2)
It says something about the human spirit that we cope in such circumstances: grief and joy side-by-side. When major natural disasters occur we hope for a story of a baby surviving a typhoon or a tsunami. On a personal level I recall that my father died three days before my youngest son's third birthday. On the night before the funeral the family met to fine-tune the details, while Reuben proudly wore his brand new Buzz Lightyear costume.
Wasn't it Martin Luther who said something like "In the midst of life we are surrounded by death but for a Christian the opposite is also true - 'In the midst of death we are surrounded by life." Neither contradicts the other as your most hopeful article portrays Clare. I am sure you will enjoy your reunion to the full.