Lessons Learned At A Funeral

I’ve been to more funerals in my life than I care to count. And I have sat bedside with critically ill friends at the ends of their lives. Although it has been painful, I consider this a privilege, for they have taught me valuable life lessons.

My dear friend of 25 years, Phyllis, was like a second mother to me. I loved her with all my heart, but she was a difficult woman. She was tall, strong, a force to be reckoned with, but she spent a lot of her life being offended by people. She was prickly and cantankerous. I’d had a few run-ins with her over the years, and she’d made me cry more than once, but always we came back to a place of love. The last time I saw Phyllis on her deathbed, all her hard edges had softened as she began to wither away. She looked so vulnerable, like a tiny baby bird in a nest of hospital blankets. She was peaceful, finally. Soon she would join her husband and son in the afterlife. The last thing this tough woman said to me before she died- “Love is all that matters.”

A year later, I would watch my friend John die from a brain tumor. At the end, I sat holding his hand while Troy played John’s beloved baby grand piano. The tumor had robbed him of his ability to speak in sentences, but there was no need for words. What mattered was clearly present in that room. John looked into my eyes, took my hand and squeezed it tight. With his other hand patting his heart, he said “So much…so much…”

This Sunday I attended yet another funeral- a sad, tragic funeral of a woman who died much too young. Andrea was Dani’s little sister. I can still see her sitting cross-legged on her bed at thirteen years old, talking about her boyfriend, as Dani and I were putting on make-up, getting ready to go out to some party or High School football game. Andrea, just a little girl in my memory, with her long wavy hair, and a whole life ahead of her.

Now she is ashes.

There had been hurt and misunderstanding between Dani and her sister over the years, and some of Andrea’s life decisions caused her to distance herself from those who loved her. Yet, on the last day of her life as she lied comatose in her hospital bed, Andrea opened her eyes and smiled at Dani. Nothing needed to be said. What was left at the end, above all the broken hearts and hurt feelings, was love.

At the funeral on Sunday, Andrea’s two teenage daughters, now orphaned, stood up and spoke about their love for their mother. Her oldest, Megan, lamented about all the time they spent fighting over petty things. That time could never be regained, time which could have been spent loving each other. I heard that message loud and clear.

Since Sunday, I have witnessed a lot of anger amongst my friends and family, some of it at each other, some at me, over small things, which will one day be long forgotten.  But Sunday put things in perspective for me. I don’t intend to waste a second of my precious life, which I am so lucky to have, quibbling over small things. I want to spend the hours of my life loving my family and friends, and helping others to do the same. I won’t be swayed from this.

People often comment on my relationship with Troy, how much in love we are after so many years. The reason our love has lasted is not because we don’t fight. We do. It doesn’t happen much anymore but in the early years, we almost didn’t make it. What saved us, time and again, is that we always come back to a place of love. Always. The love we have for each other is larger than either of our needs to be right or to be vindicated. The love outweighs our egos. 

My friendship with Erin is that way. We are a couple of strong-willed broads and we’ve collided spectacularly at times, but again, what I love so much about Erin is her great heart, which prevails over everything else, as does mine. As does Dani’s.

Life is rattling my cage pretty hard right now, testing me, challenging me to walk my talk. I ask myself, if I were lying on my deathbed, would these issues matter?

My life’s mission is to live a life of integrity, love and honesty, and to help others do the same. No matter what is thrown at me, I will stand strong in that mission, unshakable. For I know what will matter on my own deathbed is the love and kindness I shared with people.

Phyllis said it, John said it, and an eighteen year-old girl who’s had to grow up way too fast said it best. Love is all that matters.

Ain't no Sunshine when you're gone....

The sun has not shone in Los Angeles since our friend Greg Dawson died last week. It is the middle of July…in CALIFORNIA…and the sun has not shone. Coincidence? I think not.

Yesterday at his funeral, the sky actually opened up and wept with all of us. I’ve lived in California all my life. Never before do I remember it raining in July.

It was a beautiful but heartwrenching service. His friends and family who spoke did so with such eloquence, but endless tears. My husband Troy played guitar while a friend sang one of Greg’s songs. The service was two and a half hours long, standing room only. I would have expected nothing less.

This was a man who was absolutely beloved by every single person who knew him. Each person who spoke said they never heard him say a bad word about anyone. That was confirmed by all of his family members in their eulogies. What a legacy. If nothing else, I would like that to be my legacy, too.

Troy had to perform in San Diego immediately after the service. It was unbearable to drive away in separate cars. We talked and cried on our cell phones, driving opposite directions, until I was pulled over by a cop (against the law, I know.). When he saw me crying, the memorial photo of Greg on the front seat and the pile of Kleenex, he let me go.

Every time I turned on the radio, it was a song meant especially for my ears. The first was “Miss You” by the Stones. The second song was “Carry On My Wayward Son”….complete sobfest. I turned off the radio.

I drove two hours in silence, thinking, remembering…All these scenes ran through my mind. A few years ago at our friend Cam’s Christmas party, I got up to sing a Gladys Knight song …All of a sudden Greg and Cam and a few other friends jumped up to be my “Pips”. They had never heard the song, but they started making up background parts and dance steps. It was hysterical, and they were actually GOOD! That’s how Greg was. Fun, outgoing, silly, up for anything.

Maybe one of the reasons this is hitting me so damn hard is that Greg was so much like my husband. He was kind, sweet, sunny and good-natured, loved by everyone who knew him, caring, funny, creative, talented, adventurous, spontaneous. He was the kind of person you just felt good being around. Everyone talked about his hugs, and how wonderful he was with children and animals. I mean, really….how many freekin people like that exist in this world? Now Melanie is without him, and Connor will grow up with only photos and memories. With one switch of fate, it could have been me in Melanie’s shoes. I held Melanie’s hand as I promised to be there for her on the long road ahead. In her eyes was unbearable, soul wrenching pain. I felt it rip right through me, my heart pierced, my mind repeating it’s mantra…why, why,why, why…..

Sadly, today also marks one year since Troy’s best friend Dave lost his twelve-year-old daughter Alanna in a car accident. Last July was just as unbearable. Such unimaginable grief. One year without Alanna, the little girl who everyone said was the kindest, most loving girl who accepted everyone. It’s always the good ones….No, the sun should not shine today. It should not.

Lying in the dark last night, I remembered a time that Troy and I were in New Mexico visiting our friend Joe, who is a rabbi. We were sitting outside at night under that huge New Mexico sky full of stars, drinking scotch, smoking cigars, and talking about the mysteries of life. Joe shared with us a philosophy of the Jewish Faith. He said when each of us dies, we must leave a little bit undone, something for the next generation to pick up and continue.

I was so heartbroken that Greg had died with music still in him, dreams unfulfilled, work unfinished, a child yet to be raised into a man. But remembering Joe’s words, I realized it’s up to us now to pick up the loose threads of his life tapestry, and continue to weave.

So many threads he left… of kindness, creativity, hope, love, music, friendship. He left us all the gift of each other, the friendships we have formed through him. He left us the work he hired us to do. He left us Melanie and Connor.

We are weary and hurting, but we will pick up and carry on, just as Greg, and Alanna, would want us all to do. We will try our best to remember their lessons of kindness and acceptance. I will strive to leave a legacy of “never saying a bad word about anyone”.

Every one of us has lost someone we loved at some time in our lives, but we are still here. We live. We walk the Earth with their stories alive inside us. Love can never be erased. Memories can never be taken away. We are richer for having loved them.

Let us pick up those threads, and continue the work ….

How We Muddle Through...

When we got the news about our dear friend Greg passing, we were in a hotel room alongside the Merced river, about to head home in hours of holiday weekend traffic. With our spirits broken, we just couldn’t face the long grueling drive, so we decided to stay in Yosemite for one more day. For Troy and I, our church has always been nature. This is where we feel closest to creation and the creator, and where we wanted to be when mourning our friend.

We took a day trip, 8000 feet in elevation, into high country. It seemed closer to Heaven, the right place to say goodbye. At times we drove in silence, but it was tough with our four-year-old Evan bouncing around in the back, singing loudly, asking questions, reciting the Korean alphabet over and over (his newest obsession).

We thought of Greg as we drove through canyons, past countless waterfalls, through meadows with grazing deer, around pristine cobalt blue lakes, through patches of snow nestled between tall shady pines. So much beauty, and yet life is always hanging  precariously. The forest will be taken by wildfire, the deer by a predator. So many questions crowded my mind. Such senseless heartache. What reason could there possibly be for this loss? Greg was young, healthy, and dropped dead suddenly of a heart attack. How could this be? At times, I’d look over at Troy and see a tear streaming down the side of his face as he drove, and all the while Evan was singing the Bob Marley song…Don’t worry…bout a thing…every little thing…gonna be alright…

Our best friends Erin and Beth met us at the top, with their four-year-old Ben. We ventured out on a hike into a landscape so gorgeous it may be what Heaven is actually modeled after. The Toulumne meadow stretches on forever, a blanket of green-gold grasses dotted with wildflowers, ribboned with rivers, streams and mineral springs. Evan and Ben skipped through the meadow, over bridges and streams, laughing and playing tag. At any moment you expected to find Julie Andrews spinning in place and singing. All this and yet so heavy our hearts.

It is said that prayer is talking and meditation is listening. I tried to do a lot of listening in this country. I listened as we watched a herd of deer in the center of the meadow, the bucks standing watch as the does and fawns grazed. I listened as we stood ten feet away from a brown bear, who looked up to acknowledge our presence, but peacefully went about his business eating plants and berries, allowing us to sit close and observe him. I listened, and I wondered how the world could be so heartbreakingly beautiful and yet so cruel. But this is nature – pristine, perfect in its design, and absolutely cruel.

I have no answers, only endless questions. All I know is that life is a miracle, and it can also be a nightmare. It is a gift that will one day be snatched away. It is Heaven and it is Hell, and we’re here to experience it all. And I’m reminded that we are definitely on borrowed time, so there’s no use putting things off until “one day”. One thing Troy said that brought me to tears, and does even typing it now...he said Greg died with so much music still in him, dreams he never saw fulfilled. That crushed me.

After a long hike, we began our descent back to the Yosemite Valley. We were quiet and contemplative in the car, but our four year old was not. He’s on a new kick with knock-knock jokes. For forty minutes we endured this:

Evan: Knock-knock!

Me: Who’s there?

Evan: Interrupting chicken!

Me: Interrupt…

Evan: BOK!!!

And it went on with a litany of other interrupting animals; cows, pigs, snakes, parrots…until finally I told him we needed to take a little break so Daddy and I could have some quiet time. At only four years old, he had no idea what we were dealing with, nor should he have to.

Troy and I discussed Greg’s life, asked the questions aloud. How could this happen? What kind of a God allows this? Why always the good ones? All the questions you ask in a horrific circumstance like this.

Evan: Excuse me Mommy.

Me: Not now Evan….

We continued to talk about Greg's life, what a sweet soul he was. We grieved for his young son, and his wife.

Evan: Excuuuuuse me….Mommy I want to tell you something…

Me: Please don’t interrupt Evan.

We went on. I started to cry when I talked about how unique Greg was, how positive and kind he was. Troy and I talked about how Greg always made you feel lifted…

Evan: EXCUSE ME MOMMY- I WANT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING.

Me: (A little annoyed now) What is it Evan?

I whipped my head around to look at him. He was sitting in his car seat, with his huge blue eyes and a sweet expression.

Evan: Mommy, I will lift you up.

Of course this left us both speechless. I paused, and put my hand on his cheek.

Me: You are my sweet angel. I love you. Thank you for saying that.

Evan: I love you, too.

He smiled sweetly, kicking his little legs back and forth. I wiped my eyes and thanked God for my blessings.

Evan: And Mommy?

Me: Yes, my love?

Evan: KNOCK KNOCK!

And that’s how we muddle through. Life simply goes on…