My friend’s mom passed away this week. The funeral is today, over an hour’s drive from my home. Should I go?
Well, let’s see.
I have an appointment on my calendar for this afternoon and a work to-do list as long as my arm. Leaving would mean loss of income. Is this wise?
I’m tired. Bone tired from a crazy-busy week, no, make that month, on top of restless nights with too little sleep.
The price of gas just went up again.
I had no personal relationship with the deceased. I only met her twice. Ever.
I hate the idea of sitting around with a bunch of hurting, weeping people, having no way to comfort them.
Besides, no one will even notice if I don’t show up.
So am I going to drop everything, waste the day, and attend the funeral of this woman I don’t even know?
You bet I am. I am because of the actions of someone 45 years ago.
I was 14 and my grandfather had just died at his home in Waycross, GA. I had never seen my parents in such a state of grief before and I felt overwhelmed by the viewing that took place the night before the funeral. The shock of seeing living, breathing Granddaddy dead – my first time ever; having to say good-bye to a cold corpse in a coffin; standing for hours on end to greet people I’d never seen before as they came and went, paying their respects.
My mother’s tears. My father’s pain. It was awful. Awful.
And then the morning of the funeral, there they were. I couldn’t believe my eyes. My heart leapt; my lungs found new air. I found myself smiling through my tears. Amidst the sea of strangers, there – like magic – appeared the warm, familiar, caring faces of our next-door neighbors from home, Mary and Joe Gissy.
We weren’t expecting them. But they’d gotten up before daybreak and driven the two hours from Starke, FL, to lend their support. To show us they cared. Just to be there for us.
I watched my parents light up like stars on a cloudless night. I could see them drawing strength from the mere sight of their friends, who had gone above and beyond to simply show up. To offer their presence.
It meant the world to my mom and dad. And it meant the world to an impressionable 14-year-old girl who never forgot their sacrifice of an entire day of their lives for their friends. (And the sacrifice meant even more when you consider that making arrangements for their seven kids at home was no small feat!)
Mary and Joe Gissy became my role models for how to love on your grieving friends shaken to the core by the death of a loved one. I’ve tried to follow their example my whole life. And today will be no exception.
So I’m going. Regardless of all the reasons not to. Because compassion trumps reason every time.
How about you, my friend? Is there someone you feel led to go above and beyond to simply offer your presence to this week? Maybe you can’t overtly help them in any way … but you can be there.
Trust me, it will mean the world to them.
I love this…..life is so busy just taking care of me and mine…..I needed the reminder.
Me too, my dear friend, me too!
I love this story Debbie!!!! At this stage of life…..I have been on both sides…yes, SO VERY IMPORTANT to be present for others!!!!
I absolutely agree, Nancy. Give my love to your folks next time you see them! I get so nostalgic for Green Acres sometimes, it hurts.
I love this story Debbie!!!! At this stage of life…..I have been on both sides…yes, SO VERY IMPORTANT to be present for others!!!!
Debbie, well said!! Yes, having been on the other side and having the support of dear friends who made the sacrifice to be there for me in that difficult hour, has meant the world to me! I know that it meant the world to your friends, as well!
Sacrifices become love with skin on them when you chose to go the extra mile to show you care!
So true, Sandi! We have to visit both sides before we truly understand what just being there means.
I loved this, Debbie. During times of struggles we all need a friendly face who loves and cares for us. I was startled to read my hometown (Waycross) in the article. Great post!
I didn’t recall that you’re from Waycross, Gail … I have many happy childhood memories from there. My grandparents lived right next to the railroad tracks so I also recall my bed shaking in the middle of the night when the train came through. Granny and Granddaddy never owned a car so we used to walk to town every Saturday morning to shop at Kressies (don’t know about that spelling) and the Piggly Wiggly. We could only buy as much as we could carry. It made me very sad when Granny finally passed away and Daddy sold the house (sometime around 1976, I think). How long did you live in Waycross?
I lived there for twenty-five years. I remember Kress’s! We didn’t shop much at Piggly Wiggly because we lived on the other side of town in the county. Mom shopped at Pic N Save. I remember the seventies were very hard times for everyone. Did you go to Center High or Ware County High?
I never lived in Waycross, Gail; we just visited my grandparents who lived there their whole lives and are buried in the cemetery there. My dad was raised in Waycross and attended Ware County High. Granny took my sister and me to a few Friday night football games when we were visiting her during our adolescence. I even wrote about one unforgettable experience at one of those ballgames in one of my books. You’re blessed to have that wonderful place in your history; Waycross will always have a special place in my heart!
I love you story. I have a friend near death at this very moment. Strange, the family doesn’t want support at this time. I know that having all the people at Russ’ service made my day much easier. You are a good trooper and a blessed child of God. He will help you get all the is needed done. He will come through for you.
Bette, I wonder if the family of your friend is perhaps in denial and attention from others somehow brings the truth painfully up front. Whatever the reason, I will pause right now and lift them up in prayer. You, my dear, are a good friend.
I think you made the right choice. You go to funerals for the family left behind not the the one who died. I know when Bill died friends who came gave me courage, support, and the strength to go forward. It’s all about those family members with a big hole in their life that needs to be filled with the love and friendship of friends.
So true, Meletha. Well said.
I’m a little behind, but you are so right in what you said. I have been a pastor’s wife for over 25 years and have attended many funerals. I’ve learned over the years that there’s nothing better than a hug for someone who’s hurting. Words are not necessary. Genuine love and concern make all the difference. After all, we are Jesus’ heart and hands. God’s best to you, my sister!