I’d decided to keep all these posts upbeat and happy, but sometimes the cookie crumbles while you’re holding it.
My teen son had to deal with the unexpected death of our next door neighbor, who treated my son as his own. The funeral was today 😦
And that got me thinking… funerals really are a way for the family to have some sense of closure that they might not normally receive.
Take, for example, my own father’s death. Yes, I know he died. Yes, I know the day his heart stopped beating.
But there was no real sense of family mourning. Daddy died in India; his body was placed on a pyre and burned. My sister and I were here, in the States. There was no memorial service, no burial, no gathering of loved ones to remember the life he led here for so many years. Anything of that nature took place there, overseas.
I find myself wondering if that’s one of the reasons I still have dreams of his being alive — nearly 12 years after his death.