The day is cold and dreary. The sun has not come out, has not shone its brightness in a few days. And this is monumental in Arizona. I am preparing to go on a road trip with my two brothers and my daughter. We are going to California to bury my maternal aunt. We each have a role (assigned by my uncle) to perform at the funeral. One brother will sing and both will be pallbearers. My daughter will read the obituary. I will acknowledge all who were attentive to our family and read the obligatory resolutions. Hmmm simple, I think not!
I am never at a loss for words. I have taught adult re-entry classes. I have been president of several organizations. I can speak publicly at a moments notice. As I previously stated, I am never at a loss for words. Why oh why then did I get queasy and ill at the very thought of speaking at my aunt’s funeral? I am not a child. I am a sixty-three year old woman! I am bold! I am fierce! No matter what I thought, it did not calm my irritable bowel syndrome. Not attending was not an option. Not speaking at Aunt Lena’s funeral was not an option. When I attempted to get out of speaking, my uncle said, Oh, you’ll do just fine.” If he only knew how fearful this was for me.
I began reflecting on my first memories of death. Death that I truly understood as death. I was eleven or twelve years old. My parents had taken us to our annual church picnic in the park. Lots of fun, lots of kids, lots of food, lots of games. At some point in the midst of all this fun family day, someone noticed one of the children was missing.
He was found drowned in the park swimming pool. We had all been instructed to stay away from the area. He somehow had gotten over a very high chain link fence and went for a swim. He was twelve. He was dead. We all watched as they pulled his bloated body out of the water. Lots of screams, lots of tears, lots of cussing, lots of confusion.
The grown-ups decided to teach all of us kids a lesson we would never forget. Hind-sight being twenty-twenty his funeral could have been called “Scared Straight: A Lesson Learned”. We all had to participate at his funeral. My task was reading the obituary. Speaking by the tiny open coffin was devastating. I had suppressed that memory. It returned now.
I suddenly realized why I was reacting so panicky to speaking at my aunt’s services. I also suddenly realized why I was so doubly afraid of water (having almost drowned later in my life). Figuring the why to my fear released me.
Good morning family and friends, this is the day the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be glad in it for the beautiful ninety-three years of life given to my aunt …
P.S. I just might decide to take swimming lessons this summer!
