My entire life I have been surrounded by death. Death is a natural part of life. However, I have been an avid funeral goer since I was 3-years-old. If I think about it we frequented funerals as if they were birthday parties. It was strange yet normal to me. The first funeral I went to was my grand uncle. I suppose that hew was something like my mega great uncle. The only thing I recall surprisingly enough is pink and white animal cookies with multi-colored sprinkles on them. But it seems that the older I got the more funerals I went to and the less cute cookies were associated with them.
When I was in second grade a classmate of mine lost their mother to cancer. I remember being in the pieu writhing around uncomfortable, the feeling of death just choking me. I couldn’t comprehend it. We were 8 years old. Our parents don’t... die do they? I felt so bad for my classmate; it broke my heart. I just wanted to fix everything for her. I couldn't fathom how something so horrible could happen.
When I was in second grade a classmate of mine lost their mother to cancer. I remember being in the pieu writhing around uncomfortable, the feeling of death just choking me. I couldn’t comprehend it. We were 8 years old. Our parents don’t... die do they? I felt so bad for my classmate; it broke my heart. I just wanted to fix everything for her. I couldn't fathom how something so horrible could happen.
I didn't really know what it felt like, the actual loss. Death hit me hard at the age of 9. My godfather was killed in a car accident. I remember when my mom told me. I heard the blood curtling scream come out of me but I felt like I was a million miles away. I was numb. It was like the world was going on but I was standing still.
I had always seen large processionals in movies or old footage of JFK’s motorcade but I had never been part of one. There I was sitting numb in a green minivan. I know I was there but I didn’t feel there. And I peered out the window to see what seemed like thousands upon thousands of men. I had never seen so much orange in my life. It seemed like a sea of neon orange. Caltrans workers taking off their hard hats waving at us in solidarity, paying homage to the man that I called nino.
I had never been in a church that was busting by the seams with people who just loved someone so much. There was something about my nino, something extra special. And though sometimes it seems I've completely forgotten him or that awful day, flashback of his radiant smile or infectious laugh remain with me. He was the type of person everyone loved and wanted to be around. For me he was just like a father, he took the place of the father I never knew.
From then on death just seemed to fill my life. I found myself comforting people I hardly knew. I didn't know quite what to say to them. I think no one really knows what to say. Death was still so foreign for me to grasp although I had been touched by it and knew its reality, I never stopped to consider my own mortality, until I was 18.
When I was 18, I lost two friends within months of each other. How do you bury someone your age?? You just don't. Til this day I can't fathom it. The first friend, he was a family friend of my high school best friend. I remember she called me and she told me he had been killed. I was at a loss for words. It seemed like I had just seen him a few days ago. He was smiling from ear to ear and telling us jokes. He was being his usual friendly self. Now he was gone. He wasn't in an accident, he wasn't sick, someone took his life.
I couldn't comprehend it. I couldn't take away her family's pain. I couldn't do anything. I was so angry. He was almost 18, he had just graduated. He had the world at his feet and he was going to make things happen. He was an amazing person who I didn't not know very long or intimately but his warmth, his loving personality affected me. And just like that he was gone.
It has been 9 years since he has been dead and I still remember how awful it felt seeing him in a casket. The last time I was that close to him we were laughing, he was warm, he was smiling. The last time I saw him, he was cold and lifeless. He didn't look anything like himself. I could see what they did to him. I could see it all over him. It filled me with rage. He didn't do anything. People want to say racism doesn't exist, that evil does not live in the world, but I know differently. Racism killed my friend, evil took his life. And that I will never forget.
Six months later I lost another friend not to an accident not to violence or drugs but to illness. I had been friends with this girl since Kindergarten. She was the most beautiful girl. She had a beautiful smile and dark long hair. We played volleyball together in junior high. She was my team mate, a friend, almost neighbor and role model. When she started college she found out she had cancer. She got very ill and thin.
I prayed for her all the time, but I couldn't find it in me to visit her. I was terrified. I just wanted to believe that God cured everything and that my friend would be alright. But toward the end of my freshman year in college the cancer consumed her and she died. She had gone into remission but eventually the cancer came back and took over her. What was this cancer thing?? It was pure evil. It killed my friend though she did everything she could to fight it. How does someone who never smoked or did anything get cancer and die??
I felt like God never listened to me. I began to pull away from God. Yet again I walked up to a casket with the lifeless body of someone my age, my own friend and I saw how real death was. Death was no longer a faint memory associated with cookies but more like a nightmare lying in a casket.
I couldn't believe that God did things like that. Why would God take the life of people so young? or people so genuine and good and loving? The people i lost were the most wonderful people I had ever met. Yet their lives were so short.
It took me a long time to forgive God. It took me a long time to go back to church. It took me a long time to see the beauty in these tragedies. However, now after going to so many funerals and comforting friends and strangers I see that in each one of these deaths was a message, a wake up call. Each one of these people touched the lives of so many and in so little time. Everyone who spoke of them had wonderful memories and things to say. The churches were overflowing with people who wanted to share their love. As I see it now if these people had never crossed my path I would never have known God's pure love.
I have forgiven God. In fact I have humbled myself in these past years. I realize that live is a precious gift. Although we do not understand the things that happen. They all happen for a reason. When someone dies or leaves us it isn't punishment or God's cruelty, it is a reminder that we too are very mortal and in an instant we could be gone. When I die I want to be remember well. I want to be like my godfather or my two friends. They loved everyone they came in contact with. They smiled, they loved, they truly lived. They did what God asks of us every day, to love our neighbor as ourselves, perhaps the most difficult thing to do in life.
While going to funerals seems morbid and odd I find it the way God can use me to comfort those who need it most. Maybe that is my purpose on Earth, to comfort and care. I don't know. All I know is life is short, live it well; treat others well.
I had always seen large processionals in movies or old footage of JFK’s motorcade but I had never been part of one. There I was sitting numb in a green minivan. I know I was there but I didn’t feel there. And I peered out the window to see what seemed like thousands upon thousands of men. I had never seen so much orange in my life. It seemed like a sea of neon orange. Caltrans workers taking off their hard hats waving at us in solidarity, paying homage to the man that I called nino.
I had never been in a church that was busting by the seams with people who just loved someone so much. There was something about my nino, something extra special. And though sometimes it seems I've completely forgotten him or that awful day, flashback of his radiant smile or infectious laugh remain with me. He was the type of person everyone loved and wanted to be around. For me he was just like a father, he took the place of the father I never knew.
From then on death just seemed to fill my life. I found myself comforting people I hardly knew. I didn't know quite what to say to them. I think no one really knows what to say. Death was still so foreign for me to grasp although I had been touched by it and knew its reality, I never stopped to consider my own mortality, until I was 18.
When I was 18, I lost two friends within months of each other. How do you bury someone your age?? You just don't. Til this day I can't fathom it. The first friend, he was a family friend of my high school best friend. I remember she called me and she told me he had been killed. I was at a loss for words. It seemed like I had just seen him a few days ago. He was smiling from ear to ear and telling us jokes. He was being his usual friendly self. Now he was gone. He wasn't in an accident, he wasn't sick, someone took his life.
I couldn't comprehend it. I couldn't take away her family's pain. I couldn't do anything. I was so angry. He was almost 18, he had just graduated. He had the world at his feet and he was going to make things happen. He was an amazing person who I didn't not know very long or intimately but his warmth, his loving personality affected me. And just like that he was gone.
It has been 9 years since he has been dead and I still remember how awful it felt seeing him in a casket. The last time I was that close to him we were laughing, he was warm, he was smiling. The last time I saw him, he was cold and lifeless. He didn't look anything like himself. I could see what they did to him. I could see it all over him. It filled me with rage. He didn't do anything. People want to say racism doesn't exist, that evil does not live in the world, but I know differently. Racism killed my friend, evil took his life. And that I will never forget.
Six months later I lost another friend not to an accident not to violence or drugs but to illness. I had been friends with this girl since Kindergarten. She was the most beautiful girl. She had a beautiful smile and dark long hair. We played volleyball together in junior high. She was my team mate, a friend, almost neighbor and role model. When she started college she found out she had cancer. She got very ill and thin.
I prayed for her all the time, but I couldn't find it in me to visit her. I was terrified. I just wanted to believe that God cured everything and that my friend would be alright. But toward the end of my freshman year in college the cancer consumed her and she died. She had gone into remission but eventually the cancer came back and took over her. What was this cancer thing?? It was pure evil. It killed my friend though she did everything she could to fight it. How does someone who never smoked or did anything get cancer and die??
I felt like God never listened to me. I began to pull away from God. Yet again I walked up to a casket with the lifeless body of someone my age, my own friend and I saw how real death was. Death was no longer a faint memory associated with cookies but more like a nightmare lying in a casket.
I couldn't believe that God did things like that. Why would God take the life of people so young? or people so genuine and good and loving? The people i lost were the most wonderful people I had ever met. Yet their lives were so short.
It took me a long time to forgive God. It took me a long time to go back to church. It took me a long time to see the beauty in these tragedies. However, now after going to so many funerals and comforting friends and strangers I see that in each one of these deaths was a message, a wake up call. Each one of these people touched the lives of so many and in so little time. Everyone who spoke of them had wonderful memories and things to say. The churches were overflowing with people who wanted to share their love. As I see it now if these people had never crossed my path I would never have known God's pure love.
I have forgiven God. In fact I have humbled myself in these past years. I realize that live is a precious gift. Although we do not understand the things that happen. They all happen for a reason. When someone dies or leaves us it isn't punishment or God's cruelty, it is a reminder that we too are very mortal and in an instant we could be gone. When I die I want to be remember well. I want to be like my godfather or my two friends. They loved everyone they came in contact with. They smiled, they loved, they truly lived. They did what God asks of us every day, to love our neighbor as ourselves, perhaps the most difficult thing to do in life.
While going to funerals seems morbid and odd I find it the way God can use me to comfort those who need it most. Maybe that is my purpose on Earth, to comfort and care. I don't know. All I know is life is short, live it well; treat others well.
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