Went to a celebration of life yesterday. It was for an extended family member, a man I only met a few times but still, family. I'm only guessing here, I don't know that much about this stuff but I'm thinking a celebration of life is what the Irish call a wake. Growing up I only heard about such things, everyone I knew had a funeral. As I mentioned in another blog posting I avoided attending funerals for a long time after attending the one for my great grandfather. While in the service I did have to participate in a military funeral. When that grieving widow was handed a flag from a grateful nation that was a moment I will never forget. Not one given to emotional outbursts that moment tested my stoic demeanor. A bit intense. We were warned, in training, to never get too close to the one receiving that flag as they have a tendency to grab at that person. That is why you will see the one presenting that flag bending over almost at a ninety degree angle.
I assume it is the custom at these celebrations for family and friends to give their little speeches and share memories of the deceased. That was certainly a part of the celebration yesterday. Obtaining closure is what I expect they call that in these modern times. It was nice to hear all the positive thoughts and prayers related to that man. I'm certain his widow and daughter were comforted by that display of affection. But the reality, at least for me, is there is little one can say. Where I grew up and with the people that surrounded me there was an expression that summed all that up, "the finest kind." If, after you passed that was said of you, it was the highest compliment you could receive. I have been fortunate in my lifetime to have known more than one person that was of the "finest" kind.
Now one man while sharing his thoughts mentioned the things that were left behind. He was talking about all those little things in and around your home that you will come across in the following months and years. These items may bring a rush of emotion to you, overwhelm you at times. It could be anything, no matter how insignificant it may seem at this moment. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Just the other day I picked up an old carpenters' ruler, it had belonged to my father gone these thirty five years now. I did feel a rush of emotion, an immediate reaction and heard his voice admonishing me not to play with that. That is the type of thing he was talking about. I've become aware that I have been surrounding myself with just such artifacts and memories over the years. With age comes sentiment. Or perhaps it is sediment, the stuff that just settles to the bottom and remains there. The rest of the stuff just flowing with the tide of time.
As I mentioned I do have a great deal of memorabilia, if that is the correct term, items from my family. I have things from cousins, Aunts, Uncles, my brother, my sister, grandparents, great grandparents and even things from family members I never met, ones that had passed long before my birth. And each item connects me to the past in some fashion. I think of each person every time I see those things. I wonder about those I never knew as well. And that is what I'm always concerned about when talking or writing about those things, what will happen to them in the future. Who will be the steward of my history? That history is written in all those little seemingly insignificant items that surround each of us. Consider this: a crayon drawing of a tulip, cut out carefully and given to my great grandmother. I have that. Who gave it to her? My father did, probably some time in the 1930's. What was the occasion? I don't know but it was tucked into her bible, which I also have. Will that little tulip survive another four generations?
While working for the town of Ridgely in the public works department we provided a service picking up what we called rumble. You could pile up all the junk you didn't want, with some restrictions, in the alley behind your home and it would get picked up once a week. Occasionally someone would have passed away and either family members or hired contractors would empty the contents of the home. Most of the time it was just old furniture, clothes, stuff like that. Other times it would be far more personal stuff, like family photographs, or obviously hand made things like knitted or crocheted items. Might be old Christmas cards or birthday cards in that pile. Whatever was there was considered junk by those placing it there. I'm certain the one that owned it in life did not! It was their history being discarded. At least that was always my reaction to seeing that. Rather a sad feeling, but I had a job to do. Discarding a life, that's how I thought of that.
So yesterday another life was celebrated, remembered by those he had touched in his life. He will be missed by those closest to him. His purpose here on earth was through. I believe that, we are all here for a reason, and when that reason no longer exists, we make our exit. I have to believe that, otherwise what would be the point? Life is no accident, it is a creation. No science will ever explain that, although many will try. We don't need to know the purpose, the reason for anything, that isn't our role. Who remains to be the steward of our life? We won't know that either.
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