Lessons from the Funeral Director

It's been an absolutely overwhelming week. I feel as though Satan has walked over me, stomped on me, run me over, backed up over me, and then pounded me down a few times just to be sure I can't get back up. I lost my baby brother to a lifelong battle with cancer 28 years ago. Not since then has a death been so hard for me to accept. However, my grandma's death has been a repeat of that time when I lost my brother all those years ago. From the time I remember having memories, until I was about 14 years old I spent every weekend with my grandma. When I got older, she loved on my children and never made me feel like an interruption. But Tuesday August 16, 2011 the Lord called her home. And the last thing I told her was I love her. I'm so glad I had those last few moments, but I wish I had made them more meaningful. I wish I would have said thank you for all she gave for me. I wish I would have said I am sorry for all the times I was mean to her or short with her. I wish, I wish, I wish.

As I sat at the funeral home, the director came in to ask if I was okay. I wasn't. I was there by myself waiting for visitation to be over. I poured my heart out to him. I shared with him how sad I was that I was not there for her more. I shared my grief at never again having to rush her off the phone because my dinner was burning, or because my children were late for their soccer/tennis/band practice. He was amazingly sympathetic, and after I was all done he shared his wisdom with me. I am forever grateful for those quiet moments just he, my grandma, and I. And while the pain is still there and some days feels like a thousand knives cutting deep into my heart, I know it won't always feel this way. I've lost loved ones before. But there was always the knowledge that they were suffering. There was always the time to say those deep, unspoken things. So I never had a great need to meditate on these thoughts. I know people said them to me, but I was at peace with saying good-bye all the times before. So I did not need to dwell on those words. I just simply filed them away. But this is the first time God called someone whom I loved so much back home so suddenly. And I needed to recall these words. I never expected to be receiving them from a funeral director, but I needed them. I was broken, I was guilt ridden, I was hurting and then he spoke:

*It's okay to cry.
*Pain is a natural feeling.
*Death is a natural occurrence.
*It's okay to remember the funny things about your loved one.
*And it's okay to laugh about them.
*And after you laugh about them it's okay to cry about them.
*The tears won't last forever.
*Thinking about other things doesn't mean that you have forgotten about your loved one.
*No amount of time you spend with your loved one will stop death from coming for them.
*Sometimes death is kinder than what would've remained for your loved one here.
*The sadness that comes with death is ours--not our loved one's--they are busy enjoying Jesus.
*The best way to honor your loved one's memory is to keep living.
*We'll make it back to them eventually.

I will carry those few moments with me until the Lord calls me home. I needed them that night, and I have needed them many nights since then. And I truly believe the funeral director spoke them because my grandma was sitting next to her Father and saw me hurting. I can see her leaning over to the Lord and saying "Comfort her. Let her know it's okay." So God sent Robert. And I will be forever grateful that He did.