Fear and Death

Dad blamed Mom for my apprehension of funerals and dead people. Because Mom was so uncomfortable with open caskets at funerals and visitations, Dad thought I had picked up Mom's views. Neither of them realized how terrifying Grandpa's death was for me or that what I was feeling was actually a phobia. I didn't really get over the anxiety or fear until I was in college and oddly enough until I was an agnostic.

Grandpa, my dad's father, died after being ill for many years. Grandma and Grandpa lived just a few miles from our house and over 15 miles away from the closest funeral home. The family decided to have the visitation at the house rather than the funeral home because so many of the people who would come to visit were from the farming community. The funeral would take place at our little community church.

When we drove into Grandma and Grandpa's driveway, I must have been horribly excited. Visits to my grandparents were always fun and usually meant whatever special treats that my brother and I wanted. We got Dr. Pepper floats and biscuits with homemade syrup. It also meant sleep-overs and domino games and as many morning cartoons as we wanted to watch.

I'm sure my parents tried to explain again that this was not a fun visit and I really didn't understand what was going on. I was seven or eight years old and the permanence of death didn't really make sense to me. When I ran in the front door, I skidded to a stop in front of the coffin with Grandpa's body in it. Suddenly death felt very real to me.

I immediately knew that Grandpa wasn't alive. He didn't quite look like the real Grandpa. I backed away and edged toward the dining room. I avoided the living room as much as I could. When I had to be in there I sat as far away from the casket as I could.

This was the beginning of my anxiety of death and dead bodies. As a child living in a small community that usually had open-casket funerals, I had many opportunities to experience this fear over and over. After this when I did go to funerals, I avoided the line that would go past the body or quickly went past without looking.

I was afraid that the people who I loved would turn into zombies and vampires and otherworldly creatures when they died. My overactive imagination started worrying that these beloved ones would become strangers who wanted to hurt me. I certainly couldn't explain these fears as a child. I knew that what I thought was irrational and that my parents would tell me that I was being silly. I understood enough to know that others didn't think about bodies the way that I did because they went to visitations and they didn't cringe away when coming near coffins.

Now that I am an adult, I can see value in the closure that comes from funerals. That release of emotions act as a means for us to be able to eventually move on. Now as I begin my path toward ministering, I am extremely thankful that I got over my phobia. My ability to provide comfort would have been greatly limited by that fear.

Oil of Gladness

I went to another funeral today, my fourth in just a few months. I knew that I hadn't truly mourned for my friends, Christopher and Michael or my aunt, Beth. The sorrow I am feeling is about my loss not theirs. I began experiencing a void that Christopher's death created. Beth's sudden death ripped it larger. Now with Rosie's passing I am confronting the pit that all of these deaths have opened.

Today as I listened to minister speak fervently of Rosie's loving, caring nature, I was saturated by my recent losses. Tears started running down my cheeks. The minister spoke of how Rosie's house (her physical body) had broken down and was in disrepair. Now that she was with God, she was in a new spiritual house that couldn't be destroyed or crippled. What he said was true for Rosie, for Christopher, for Beth, for Michael. All of them had bodies that failed them and couldn't support their spirits any more.

Grief is a necessary process for us humans. We all have to experience the anguish associated with death so that we can heal and become healthy again. Not dealing with pain and loss can and often does lead to depression. I know that tears and sadness are part of a necessary process.

I've experienced that deep depression from repressing my feelings. My first Christmas at MCC Lubbock Rev. Renae and a minister from United Church of Christ Lubbock led a special service for people who were feeling sad and lonely during the holidays. I was battling severe depression. With a great deal of uncertainty I went to the Blue Christmas Service expecting little from it.

The Bible verse they used was Isaiah 61:3.

3...provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair...

I had never heard this verse and was struck by the imagery of these words. At the end of the service, the two ministers administered oil on each person's forehead. For me this evening helped me acknowledge to God that I needed divine help to move past my grief.

Today as I mourn my loved ones I take comfort again from this verse and in the knowledge that God never leaves me. Eventhough I'm still sad over these losses, God has subsided the oppressiveness of my sorrow. God has again anointed me with the "oil of gladness."

A box of books

Today I went over to Gordon's house to look through Christopher's books. Gordon said I could take all that I wanted. As I filled a box with reference and spiritual books, I was struck with a sadness at the loss of my friend. This box of books is more than titles, pages, and words. It represents the mentor who embraced my desire to learn and accompanied me as my spiritual journey launched.

I met Christopher over eight years ago when I first attended to MCC Lubbock. He filled in for the full-time minister when she went on sabbatical just a few months after I started attending. Christopher led the membership class that I attended and welcomed me into the church as a member. When I was in a Bible study group taught by him, he encouraged me to step out and become a facilitator. Later he was a role model of how to lead as I worked with my own group. When I struggled with how I should minister to other people, Christopher provided me support and information. He sparked my interest in meditation helping me to listen to God, not just talk.

When Christopher died a few months ago, I felt a great loss in my heart. A few weeks earlier, he was kind enough to share the seminary recommendation that he had written for me. Reading his words, I knew that he was instrumental in my acceptance to EDS.

It feels appropriate that my professional library is started by Christopher who was instrumental in urging me forward on my spiritual journey. Each time I open one of his books I'll know that he is with me and acting as a spirit guide for me.