Heading down to a large funeral, in a bus with VIPs. I am not good at funerals. I cry entirely too much.
My “funeral dress” is hanging from my bedroom door, along with the jacket and scarf that go with it. My boots are shined and waiting by my bed. My tiny purse is stuffed with a freshly starched handkerchief and a package of kleenex. All I need to do is take a bath and start getting ready.
Early in sobriety, I had an experience that has stuck with me all these years. I don’t remember who it was or where it was or what circumstances – other than a funeral. I told a group of AA women that “I don’t like funerals.” (as if that was an excuse not to go) They laughed and said “Do you think we do?” That’s all it took for me to realize that sometimes I have to do things that I don’t want to, it doesn’t make me special, it makes me normal. Only a ghoul “likes” funerals, but we go because we show up for the living. I have to tell you, I am especially dreading this one.
It is Monday in Holy Week. This Lent has been the most amazing one for me. I hope to be able to get to many of the church services this week, and I took Friday afternoon off so that I could spend the afternoon in church.
Please say a prayer for me and all who are involved in this horribly sad day.
For ever, O Lord, your word is firmly fixed in the heavens. Your faithfulness endures to all generations; you have established the earth, and it stands fast. — Psalm 119:89-90