The long journey home

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,

And mortal life shall cease,

I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

A monument in the Greyfriar's Kirkyard cemetery has an inscription to an unknown man and on it the inscription speaks of his life and of all he had lived for..."long before death hath closed his eyes" Last week I lost my grandmother, she passed away unknown to me and I wasn't there to be with her, to hold her hand or tell her goodbye, instead my phone rang late that night from a world away with my mom telling me the news. So, I had to say goodbye to her in my own way since I couldn't be there with my family. And without a funeral, or the memorial service, or the casket looming; like a dark portent marring the church's altar. I had time to think about who my grandmother was "long before death hath closed her eyes" I got to thinking that funerals are such a poor farewell to those whom we love and cherish. We forget in our grief who they were, that they lived and breathed and loved. Instead we travel down the dark road of mourning, carrying with us the void that they left behind, like an empty suitcase whose hinges have broken and will not close. We walk, blinded by sorrow, spilling out the valuable contents on the road behind us, like a sad homage to hansel and gretel. We cast out the contents and concentrate instead on the empty suitcase. Because the locked casket won't let us forget, the waiting grave won't let us forget, and certainly the preacher won't let us forget.... that they are gone. But here in my quiet livingroom sitting on the couch, without funeral music playing, or preachers stumbling over my loved one's name, or sickly sweet flowers dripping from every corner of the room, I can remember. I can remember my grandmother's hands worn and wrinkly soft, I can remember her humor and quick wit, her papery powdered cheek proffered as I started to leave, her life lessons, and cooking tips, her softly spoken prayers over her supper, her caramel cake that she would bake for me, her tears when I couldn't stay, and her joy when I came to visit...I can remember HER... and I can cherish who she was without being lost in the sorrow of her absence... and more importantly I can relinquish her to Christ... and I can look down the long road still left for me to travel, and pack up the memories back inside the suitcase of my heart and continue walking....