I ended last week’s post saying I wouldn’t be back till June 16th so that I could soak in every second with my family while they were in town for my daughter Angela’s high school graduation. But as often happens, life took a little detour and I felt compelled to write about it.
My uncle Roger passed away early Friday morning, just hours before my parents made the drive from St. Louis to be here to celebrate Angela’s accomplishment. He was 85 years old; a gentle, kind, and funny soul. His two daughters are each a year older than me and my sister, so we were always close growing up.
I had hoped his funeral would be later this week so that I could drive back to St. Louis with my parents and be present to celebrate the life of this wonderful guy. Instead, his funeral was Monday morning, which meant my parents had to leave one hour into Angela’s graduation open house. I was devastated and yet completely understood. My mom is the youngest of 7, and uncle Roger is her next oldest sister’s husband. Of course she and Dad were going to the funeral. I would move heaven and earth to be there for my own sister in the same situation.
Coming to grips with how I felt about everything reminded me of an insightful observation from Father Greg Boyle regarding “the unbearable beauty of our existence”.
What do you do when you have something to celebrate and someone to grieve at pretty much the exact same time? You do both as best you can. Both need to happen, and even though those commemorations may not be as imagined, they still possess beauty and worth—perhaps even more so because the importance of each have become crystal clear.
Celebrating the young woman my daughter has become was a whirlwind! So many people from all parts of our lives came out to show their love and support, and I wanted to share moments with every single one of them so they knew how much their presence meant to me. I probably had 50 three or four minute conversations, and every single one of them did my heart good! Thank you for taking the time to be here. Thank you for loving us. Watching Angela out of the corner of my eye, I noticed she was doing the same thing. When people show up for you, it’s important to let them know it’s noticed and appreciated.
Saying goodbye to Mom and Dad in the midst of this needed to be quick, or I would dissolve. It wasn’t until the next morning that I let the sorrow pierce through. I texted Mom, knowing she’d be getting ready to go to uncle Roger’s funeral, and said, “I hate not being there today.” Her response? “Now you know how I felt yesterday.”
Thankfully, his funeral was livestreamed, and I sat on the couch in my pajamas, soaking a box of Kleenex with my ears. My body was at home, but my heart was so somewhere else. I suppose a lot of life is like that.
“The unbearable beauty of our existence”.
I wanted to say, “It’s not fair” and I could have complained about things not going the way I had planned. But what good would that have done? It certainly wouldn’t change the reality, so I embraced it instead.
It was exhilarating to celebrate Angela, and it was excruciating to miss doing the same for Uncle Roger. The exhilaration and the excruciation both stem from the same place: love.
Love rejoices and mourns.
Love laughs and weeps.
Love heals and hurts.
This constant tension of opposites can feel unbearable, but it is still beautiful.
And God resides in all of it.
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