Going to…
…a funeral today, so posting will be light.
I’ve been thinking about the passage of time lately. I went to a wedding this past Saturday and there was my own childhood friend taking up her role as the mother of the bride. Although her own wedding long ago still seems vivid to me, it sure doesn’t seem recent.
A wedding is a happy occasion, and the one this past weekend was especially joyful because the bride and groom appeared starry-eyed in love, and both families ecstatically happy at the entire state of affairs. Yeah, I know the gloomy statistics, but this one made a believer out of me.
But then there’s today’s funeral. As I grow older, time seems to accelerate in alarming fashion, and funerals will become more frequent. This past July I wrote this about the man whose funeral it is:
Last week I visited two elderly relatives who’ve recently moved to an assisted living facility not too far from me. They’re in their mid-eighties, and although they’ve been married for more than 50 years they live in separate wings of the place, because his problems are physical and she has Alzheimer’s.
These are people who were long known for their lively, upbeat personalities, always fun to be around. He’s still gamely trying to be cheery, despite some pain and enormous fatigue, plus his concern about what’s going on with his wife, but it’s a challenge he doesn’t always meet. He’s the one with the full awareness, after all, which is mainly a blessing but has its drawbacks when things are bleak.
But his wife has no such problems. Her mental state hasn’t deteriorated too much yet. She’s still, as they say, “well oriented”””at least in space, if not in time. She’s aware that he lives in a different building, but she thinks it’s a temporary thing, a sort of hospital, and that they’ll soon be reunited for good. He visits her a couple of times a week, and her ordinarily cheerful personality seems intact so far.
I don’t know whether his wife will be able to understand that he has died. I don’t know what they’ll tell her, and I don’t know what information she’ll be able to retain. Such are the complications of a life so long that the mind wears out before the body—or, in her husband’s case, the body before the mind.
Strangely enough, I’ve written about this same situation before, when I attended the memorial service for a friend’s father who’d died and left behind a wife with Alzheimer’s. Here’s how it was handled then:
But one person was mysteriously missing [from the service]: his wife. They’d met at the age of thirteen and been married for sixty-six long and happy years. I looked around the room but could not find her. Then during the service, the minister explained that no, his wife would not be attending.
I’d known that she was in the middle stages of Alzheimer’s disease. But I also knew that she’d been told about her husband’s death, and since they’d still been living together in an assisted living apartment, surely she felt his absence, whether she could recall it or understand it. But the minister noted that experts in Alzheimer’s had suggested that her attendance at a service such as this would be a pointless cruelty: she would only be saddened by it and yet would not remember it. It would reopen the wound of her husband’s death freshly from moment to moment, to no purpose. And so it had been recommended she stay away, and come down only for the reception and luncheon, which would seem to her a sort of party.
And a sort of party it was, actually. When a 90-year-old dies after a rich full life, that life can mostly be celebrated, although of course there’s grieving, as well.
I ended that post with a quote from Ecclesiastes. It seemed appropriate then, and it seems appropriate now. That’s the thing about Ecclesiastes; it’s always appropriate:
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance”¦
My sympathies on the loss of your family member, Neo.
It’s sad to hear about the struggles this elderly couple had to deal with at the end of their marriage, but if they were previously known for their lively, upbeat personalities then surely it was a good marriage. And that’s a blessing, and something to be celebrated.
I’ll say a prayer for both of them.
Sorry for the news
been a bad year for me too
landlord died, cousin died, aunty died, dad is dying… and i am leaving for indonesia for a wedding, and new family celebrations
the wheel turns on…
I am sorry for your loss.
I often wonder, beside the body and the mind, if when the spirit gets tired, if that too can be the cause. Fighting just to be alive, with a sick body, wears on something not in any medical tome or found in an autopsy. I am hoping my body runs out before my hope does, that seems like a desperate hard situation, worse even then slow suffocation while it lasts.
So sorry for your loss.
This meditation on life’s passages makes me bot thankful and encouraged. Thankful that thus far my wife and I have avoided extreme, irremedial health conditions. Each day is a gift.
Though there is sadness on the death of your relative, there is also encouragement. A long life, well lived is an accomplishment to be admired and, yes, celebrated.
The verses from Ecclesiastes are most appropriate. They help us understand and accept the passages of life.
My parents’ generation is now gone. There is a feeling of responsibilty that accompanies that. In one way, you are on your own, but in another, they are always with you. How do we pass their legacy on?
My condolences, Neo.
Aging John Derbyshire of NRO found some comfort from this quote, which is from William Hazlitt’s Table Talk:
We do not leave so great a void in society as we are inclined to imagine, partly to magnify our own importance and partly to console ourselves by sympathy. Even in the same family the gap is not so great. The wound closes up sooner than we should expect…. People walk along the streets the day after our deaths just as they did before and the crowd is not diminished. While we were living, the world seemed in a manner to exist only for us for our delight and amusement, because it contributed to them. But our hearts cease to beat and it goes on as usual and thinks no more about us than it did in our lifetime. The million are devoid of sentiment and care as little for you or me as if we belonged to the moon.
I’m in accord. The construction contracting company I have worked for (20 years full time, 3 years part time) takes very good care of its “lifers.” Most have come on a final career change, and are past middle age. Regularly one will be stricken, usually with terminal cancer or heart/lung disease. He or she will fail to appear for work one day; we’ll follow the therapy and decline on the grape-vine; the person may rally and return briefly; then we’ll hear of the person’s death. Yet work goes on without hitch, and in a few years we cannot remember the name or face of the deceased, much as we appreciated them as coworkers.
My condolences, neo.
My mother died of AD at age 84. Was difficult those last years to have her look at you and realize, from her eyes and facial expressions, that she did not know who you were.
On the other hand, my grandmother died at age 97 and could still remember coming to this country from the Kingdom of Bohemia in 1884 with her parents and the train trip she then took from New York to Nebraska.
And I agree about the speed – as I get older, time has gained speed. Weird.
And this is what I have in front of me within the next 15 to 20 years:
“Ecclesiastes 9:5 For the living know that they will die,
but the dead know nothing;
It hurts.
But it’s worth it.
I am sorry for your loss, Neo. It would be sadder still if the gentleman in question had not enjoyed a long, full life with a beloved wife. I agree with J.J., each day is a gift. It’s what we do with the time we are given (however short or long) that matters.
I have sad news… my daughgter (40) has had (masectomy) surgery – bioposy & 10 of 22 lymph nodes are positive (cancer/pre-cancer). I refuse to go negative & urge her (Alice) and my son (in-law) to maintain a positive attitude.
The folks at neo seem to me to be a forth right group of sincere people so please send forth a positive vibe for Alice now & in the days ahead. I rarely ask for assistance from anyone but I ask it now.
Neo-
I am sorry for your loss, and Parker I will pray for your daughter.
Hi, Parker: My sister went through that, and beat it back for many years. I would say, pray, take it one day at a time, and call in all your chits: lean on everyone you can think of. There really are many things they can do medically that they couldn’t do even ten years ago. I’ll pray for Alice.
hugs, Beverly
Parker,
I’ll be praying for your daughter too. Take care.
Parker,
My thoughts and prayers are with you. I know your daughter will have some tough times ahead, but I hope these are outweighed many, many times by good ones.
Neo, I am sorry for your loss, and Parker, sending strength and hope as best I can to you and your daughter.
We read the Ecclesiastes verses at a family funeral earlier this year, and they were deeply comforting. I’ll be attending services tomorrow for a loved and valued professional colleague struck down too soon. The somber rains of early December seem appropriate — as do the twinkling Christmas lights emerging everywhere to fight back against the darkness.
Parker: so very sorry to hear about your daughter.
I have a friend who was diagnosed with breast cancer about fifteen years ago, with many positive nodes (I forget how many, but it was a lot). Knock wood, she is still pretty healthy now. She did go through a lot, including chemo of an aggressive nature and also radiation, but the results have been good. My understanding of breast cancer is that treatment is even better today than it was 15 years ago, so there is much reason for hope for your daughter.
Praying and wishing your daughter well, Parker. My boss’s wife just went through that and all went very well.
Last Sunday, I went to a Hanukkah sing fest of fresh and eager young children singing their hearts out. It was so fun to watch! And encouraging to the older hearts and skins grown encrusted with life’s struggles. What a beautiful arrangement! The young appreciating and basking in our attentions; and the old and older forgetting themselves. I call that some proof of a beneficial Understanding.
Love, which, for me, is the power to appreciate, never fails.