What a Life!

I have a confession to make. I love to read obituaries and I'm not dragging my feet about going to funerals anymore. Sometimes I think it must be my age. I remember when my mother would phone me and tell me that someone dear to her had just passed away and that she and dad were going to another funeral. 

Hardy and I are going to a lot of funerals now. Many who pass away are younger than we are. My sister, whose high school graduating class is celebrating their 50th anniversary this year, told me that nine of her classmates have died. We were both shocked!  We are still living life to its fullest -- learning how to use our new iPads, encouraging our children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, enjoying our hobbies, celebrating birthdays (there are so many candles on our cakes now!) and happy to have time for all of this because we are retired!

About reading obituaries -- it's not because I'm a senior that I enjoy reading them. I am interested in how people lived their lives, often so well and so courageously. 

For example, there is the recent obituary in the Winnipeg Free Press from a woman who was two years younger than I am. She wrote her own obituary, without a word about her disability. Her first sentence tells me that she had a great sense of humour: "I chose to write my own obituary, as it gives me the chance to have a last word." She writes about her life as "glorious" and "full" (this from someone handicapped who lost her parents at an early age). She writes how she "survived" getting both her bachelor's and master's degrees but claims she learned more from children with disabilities and their parents (with whom she worked for twenty years) than she ever learned at university. She did a lot of travelling and at the end she says she hopes that "each and every one of you make the most of every minute." She asks that donations be made to a memorial fund that helps the disabled.

O Love, that wilt not let me go, / I rest my weary soul in Thee; / I give Thee back the life I owe, / that in Thine ocean depths its flow / may richer, fuller be.

About going to funerals -- Hardy and I recently attended two, one from each side of our family. The deceased were not close relatives but people whose lives had touched ours over the years. 
Hardy's relative lived to the age of 93 and died seven years after his wife passed away due to the ravages of Alzheimer's. His casket was surrounded by his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, many of them weeping. Each grandchild placed a rose on his coffin when they entered the sanctuary. This man was an accomplished musician and an avid fitness and sports enthusiast, in spite of the fact that he struggled with obsessive/compulsive disorder all of his life (something we were not aware of during his lifetime). His children and grandchildren had many lasting memories of wonderful times they had shared with their Papa and Opa.

O Light, that followest all my way, / I yield my flickering torch to Thee; / my heart restores its borrowed ray, / that in Thy sunshine’s blaze its day / may brighter, fairer be.

The relative on my side of the family whose funeral we attended was 81 and had suffered from Parkinson's for the last ten years of her life. She was born in Ukraine and at eight, while visiting her grandparents in another part of the country, she could no longer return to her family due to the turmoils of World War 2. She met her father and siblings fifty years later, but her mother and brother had already passed away. Her grandmother, aunt and other extended family members adopted her. In spite of such a difficult start in life, she had a wonderful sense of humour and never complained. 

O Joy, that seekest me through pain, / I cannot close my heart to Thee; / I trace the rainbow through the rain, / and feel the promise is not vain / that morn shall tearless be.

Life is sweet and I want to enjoy every minute of it. So do our friends Klaas and Hinke from The Netherlands. We visited them in 2011. Now Hinke has the beginning of Alzheimer's. They go for walks and bike rides and when the weather doesn't allow it they attend concerts and go to museums. He writes that strength and courage come from friends, their congregation and their family. Klaas is an artist and has sent us several of his beautiful water colours (postcard size).

O Cross, that liftest up my head, / I dare not ask to fly from Thee; / I lay in dust life’s glory dead, / and from the ground there blossoms red / life that shall endless be.

The pastor-poet George Matheson (1842-1906) wrote the hymn which I dispersed throughout this post. As a young teenager I found a book about him in a dusty attic shelf and will never forget it. I cannot remember the title of the book and have not been able to locate it. It was not a true account but a fictionalized version based in part on his life. In the story I read, a woman who loved him before he was blind meets him again after his blindness, still loves him and wants to marry him. He doesn't want her pity, but she finally convinces him of her true love. In reality, the woman to whom Matheson was engaged left him because of his failing eyesight and he remained single for the rest of his life.  He wrote this hymn when he was 40 years old. It was 40 years in the making but took only 40 minutes to write. He didn't let his failing eyesight keep him in emotional darkness because he knew of a greater light that made his days brighter and fairer.