Two Funerals and a Girls Night

I just attended my second funeral within two weeks. And while I do not park myself in the “bad things happen in threes” camp, it does feel a bit strange to have them happen so close together like this.

Whenever life-altering events like these happen around the holidays, they seem magnified for some reason. Even without dealing with funerals, it’s easy to let ourselves get dragged down by all the inherent stress that typically accompanies this time of year, to let minor speed bumps become massive potholes.

Like letting myself get seriously annoyed at the company that messed up my carefully crafted Christmas card collage. Or raging at the high-tech printer which took longer to spit out my mailing labels than if I'd hand-addressed them myself. Or to grumble over ruined cookie dough.

To sweat the small stuff.

So I’m flipping the switch. I’ve decided my “third thing” is going to be a GOOD thing. Attending these funerals has reminded me how important it is to focus on every good thing in life. That it’s our relationships which really matter. Spending quality and quantity time with the people we love.

…And the people that crack us up with their outrageous antics, shocking behavior and hilarious stories.

That’s right. I’m talking about Girls Night!

This Saturday night, I’m hanging with my Babes. They are some of the brightest lights of my life. And I’m talking the funky, iridescent, twinkling, singing (Nora!) kind. My Babes are technically my Bunco Babes. Although, whenever I mention “It’s Bunco night, baby!” to my hubs, he just rolls his eyes. Because we haven’t actually played Bunco in er…well, a few years. But that’s not the point.

I’m sure it’s a proven scientific fact that women have an actual physical need to talk. When these 12+ women and I get together once a month, it’s less about playing Bunco than it is about sharing, venting, bonding, giggling and laughing uproariously. And baby, I can use some belly laughs right about now. Salve to my soul!

So, if you aren’t already, I encourage you to join me in focusing on the good stuff. During this season of rush here, hurry there… just stop. Breathe. Think of everything you have to be grateful for. Write it all down. And if you don’t already have Babes of your own, get some!

Heart Image by: Sarah DuMay

Words Have Power

Have you ever noticed that words really do have power? I never bought into the whole "sticks and stones" thing, because I believe words truly can hurt you. Words can tear you down. They can crush your spirit. They can cut deep and twist like a knife. But words can also build you up. They can make your heart sing. Cause your spirit to lift and swirl as if riding on the wind.

Words have power.

We move through our days, and even though we know life on earth can't last forever, we tend to live our lives as if it will. "I’ll see you tomorrow. Next week. This afternoon…"

Recently, two people close to me lost their fathers in a similar way. Very sudden. They were there one second and the next they were gone. Slipping from this world to the next in a literal heartbeat. When death happens this way, it's unexpected…and shocking. Similar refrains were repeated over and over as people gathered murmuring, "I just spoke with him yesterday. A few days ago. This morning…"

We're not prepared.

I attended one funeral and listened as family members and friends moved to the pulpit and spoke, telling stories and reminiscing. I was struck by something shared by one daughter in particular. After recounting some thoughts and special stories, she proceeded to confess that despite the overwhelming sorrow she experienced at losing her father, she at least had no regrets in one regard. She revealed the fact that not one day went by without her telling her father she loved him. And he told her the same.

For some of you, this may not seem such a big deal. But for me, it was a moment of epiphany.

Although I tell my children and husband I love them on a daily basis, I began to think about my own parents and siblings. I was raised in a loving, relatively normal family of six. I had no doubt that my parents loved me, my siblings and each other. But growing up we rarely, if ever, actually said the words "I love you" out loud. It's not that we didn't feel it or think it. We just didn't say it.

While speaking on the phone with one of my brothers a few years back, we recognized this fact and began concluding our phone conversations to each other with those three magic words. But I hadn't expanded beyond that.

This has officially changed. I am now much more conscious of my interactions with all the people I love. And it's inspired me to remember to actually say those powerful words a lot more often.

So…have you said "I love you" today?



Image by: Koinos Zoi Photography

When I Think of Her…

When I think of her, what immediately comes to mind is her laugh. Light. Musical. Joyful. Like bells tinkling. She had an infectious laugh. It was nearly impossible for anybody to hear her and not find themselves laughing too.

She could make pancakes without following a recipe. This might not be such an amazing feat to some, but it always boggled my mind as I’d watch her prepare breakfast during our weekend visits.

She possessed a laid back personality, especially compared to my uptight Type A-ness. I was secretly convinced she would live well beyond me due to this fact.

She loved the outdoors with a passion. We’d hiked together many times. Through the woods to witness maple trees tapped and harvested to make maple syrup, along the shores of Lake Michigan, across the rocky terrain of the Canadian Bruce Peninsula. Sometimes just the two of us, but most often with our entire families spilling along the trail together, laughing, talking, embracing nature.

She had an amazing faith. Deep and real. She firmly believed that some how, some way, God causes all things to work for our good, no matter how dismal things appeared at the moment.

When her husband was diagnosed with ALS, she—who to my knowledge had never run a race before in her life—began training for a marathon in support of the cause. And then she ran it. And then she finished it. When her father was diagnosed with lymphoma she ran a race in support of that as well. She went on to participate in a triathlon, and multiple 5-K races in between.

She was an amazing listener. Whether we agreed on things or not, we could always share open-minded discussions. Without judgment.

She was an avid game player. While our husbands sat hunched over the cribbage board, she and I would play Scrabble for hours (basically because we’d get sidetracked by our conversations in between actually playing the game). We played Euchre with our husbands as our partners. Once. (Never again!) We played games with our kids as well. We once had a Phase 10 game last for months because we couldn’t finish it before our weekend visit ended. But like people often do with chess games, we just picked up where we’d left off the next time we got together.

She was a natural nurturer, but never an enabler. She was the kind of person who inspired friends to be the very best kind of friend they could be.

She loved her family, and she was a fighter. When she received her own cancer diagnosis, she battled diligently with insurance companies and health care providers to cover her treatment. She travelled to multiple states, obtaining the best care possible. She did what she needed to do to try and heal. For three years. She was relentless.

Without knowing how near she was to the end of her life, my husband and I travelled across the state to visit her and her family the weekend before she died. Even though she was bedridden, I spent an hour talking with her. She was weak and had lost weight, her brown curls just beginning to grow back again after her last chemotherapy treatment. Her energy was low, but it is a time I’m so grateful to have had.

She passed away three days later.

When I think of her now, it’s not so much how she was during that last visit. It’s more like snapshots and video snippets covering the entire 25 years I knew her. It’s with that joyful twinkle of mirth sparking deep within her bright blue eyes. And despite the aching lump that lately resides permanently in my throat, and the tears that spill from my eyes without warning, I know without a doubt that she is all right. I know she’s dancing and laughing with joy in Heaven. Because when I think of her, it’s her laughter that fills my mind, clear as a tinkling bell.