Remembering

This afternoon our family went to a memorial service for the brother of a very dear friend. This was more of a wake than a traditional service. There was laughing and crying. Music and dancing. There was food and, yes, there was drinking. I mean, it’s not a proper wake without that last bit.

As we sat and listened to the stories close friends and family told of the loved one who passed through the thin veil to the Otherworld, I marveled at this young life. I had only met him a couple of times and never really knew him that well. Our conversations were brief but he had this presence about him. No matter what he was doing, I noticed he would stop and look people directly in the eye when speaking with them. His eyes weren’t darting to and fro looking around the other person to the distractions of other people passing by; he looked intently at the one he was talking with. It was like the rest of the world just stopped. For him, and the person talking with him, they were the only ones present.

At least that’s what it felt when I chatted with him. And from what I heard from the other people today, I gather that was a good assessment.

As we listened to the speakers, I was moved by their love and kindness, not only toward the departed, but of the love and kindness extended to the family as well. Like I said, it was quite moving.

Of course, I can’t help but wonder about what will happen when I pass through the thin veil. Certainly, this person was “in the limelight,” as the saying goes, what with him being a very talented musician and all but it still made me think. Would my memorial pack out a venue like this (there were well over 300 people in attendance)? Would people have the same love and kindness to say about me and extend it to my family? Will it move the speaker to tears just telling funny stories about me? Have I been kind enough? Gentle enough? Loving enough? Could I have done more? Can I do more? What makes a “good life”? What will people say or think about me when I’m not on this plane any more?

At one point during the wake, we were told of a familiar name that was used by those who were closest to this young man. When I heard that, I thought of this poem by Henry Scott Holland—

Death is Nothing at All

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.
All is well.

~~~

In the Love of the Three in One,

Br. Jack+, LC