April 13, 2013

(This was a hard post to finish, and so it took a while.)

Phillips Brooks once said that character may be manifested in the great moments, but it is made in the small ones. That is, perhaps, why I think April 13, 2013, was a pivotal day in my life.

In the morning, I attended a memorial service for Zachary, a 5-year old boy that had died of cancer. It was a very rough service for everyone, but I felt incredibly bad for the parents. Not only did they have to grieve for their son, but they had to do so while talking with hundreds of people who, with the best of intentions, wanted to convey their condolences. Think about how emotionally draining it is for a married couple to visit tables and talk with all the guests. Now substitute the joy of a wedding with the loss of a young child. I'm not sure I'd have the strength for a public ceremony.

I remember talking with the pastor emeritus of our church, who attended but did not speak at the service. Somehow it came up, and I found out that, in his 35 or so years of service, and 50+ years of ministry, he had never had to minister at a child's funeral service.

I will never forget the father's eulogy.

I won't describe the specifics of how the father spoke, or what he spoke about. Suffice it to say that it was heartfelt, pained, and powerful. He had an eloquence that I did not know he possessed, and perhaps he will never possess it again. I don't know if this helps, or what I'm even trying to say by this: it was more real than anything I had experienced in living memory, even my grandmother's death.

I don't think anyone recorded the speech -- how could any of us take out a camera or a phone to create a permanent record of a family's unimaginable grief? Some things are meant to remain a product of a specific time, and should not be recorded except in memory. And yet, I know that I absolutely have to remember exactly what happened during that memorial service. 

Later that evening, I attended a party hosted by a high school classmate. I hesitate to call her my friend, because I kept myself emotionally closed from others. And yet she is my friend; she earned it by reaching out to me after many years to meet a couple weeks ago, and again to give me an opportunity to see both familiar faces and meet new people. I laughed, a lot, and had some wonderful heart-to-hearts with people I hadn't been close to.

Today, I experienced a wide range of emotions. And it was perfectly human. I did not question the legitimacy of any of those emotions, or analyze them until this moment. I don't think I'll analyze them now. It is sufficient for me to understand, on a visceral level, that we humans need and ought to feel a wide range of things in our lives. Today taught me to appreciate the temporary, and to not squander it in grumbling about its brevity. Today, I learned the importance of being a participant in life, and not just an observer.