Say not in grief, "He is no more," but live in thankfulness that he was.--Hebrew Proverb
Last week we attended another funeral. This time for our second cousin: Dave Morales. His life and death was pretty extraordinary. I mean, he lived a large life. I remember him being a party animal, wild and free in my early childhood. He had personality for days, was a jokester and loud! But then one day he found true love and settled down. . .as settled as they could be because she was the life of the party too, so together they were a good thing. Fatherhood seemed to change him, as is usually the case, with a job and day to day responsibilities, visits were sparse. I saw less and less of him as he lived about an hour away and the demands of practices and games kept him busy on his home front.
He kicked cancer's butt, not once but twice! His zest for life was big and he wasn't going down without a fight. Unfortunately, a couple years ago he started to develop Parkinson like symptoms which slowly took their toll on his body. His mind was trapped in a body that kept failing to cooperate. And it was during these times that he would come spend some time at my parents as my dad would drive him to appointments. One of my best memories was coming home from work to find Janessa sitting indian style on the floor so she was eye to eye with him as his body had slipped and was contorted in the chair. She was carrying on a conversation with him, oblivious to the state of his body. Isn't that how it always is with kids? They don't seem to notice the differences like adults do. The two were just chatting away.
I would always go to offer my cheek for a kiss and he (like his father) would chuckle and often say, "Like Angie." I guess that might be my trademark gesture that I inherited from my nana. A lifted cheek to accept the kiss offered from friends and family. It only meant something because that recognition came from him and my Uncle Frank. With Uncle Frank's dementia now, he hasn't said it in a long time. . .and with David gone now, I know I probably won't ever hear it again and that thought alone saddens me immensely. My eyes are filled with tears as I type that realization.
However, I am filled with absolute joy that Dave is dancing with angels, free from the bondage of his body that ailed him. That man went through so much in the last twenty-three years. I am happy he is at peace. I am sad he is gone, but happy he is in heaven. His funeral was probably the best I have ever been to. Each song played, I knew because he and my dad were so similar in their musical tastes. Each song was so fitting. So Dave. The tavern they held his reception at was also absolutely so him too! To see people gathered, talking, and toasting was a happy occasion.
I had to get gas on the way to the funeral and my navigation took me five miles off the course. Janessa and I marveled at our scenic drive as my mind appreciated the wrong turn to soak in the beauty of nature and to be a noticer on a day that potentially could have been looked at as super depressing: a 63-year-old man was gone far too soon. I found myself considering this detour (which almost made me late) as joy instead of an inconvenience. I decided to look at it through Dave's eyes instead of my own.
"Be present" was a theme throughout the service. I think that's a theme I've embodied in my own life of late. There are so many distractions but my presence is crucial. These are the days my husband and kids will remember. I want to be looking in their eyes instead of down at a screen. Dave's funeral reminded me of the importance of this truth. And I thought, how appropriate, I had taken a wrong turn and glimpsed some camp scenery as camping was something they all used to do too.
Interestingly enough, two days later was Lene's 12th birthday--her last year before the teen years set in. She had been disappointed not to be able to attend the funeral as she was feeling under the weather. I didn't want her to push herself with the distance we had to drive, plus her big birthday plans. There were some tears, but she decided not to attend. The morning of Lene's big day she got ready for some girl time with her bestie. We had a pedicure and went to sushi for lunch. We got Starbucks and then went by another party for a friend at a local park. It was there that I took a picture of her, really took it all in, and I couldn't stop smiling.
Take a look at her shirt. Of all days, she put on a shirt with the lyrics, "Hey Jude," the same song that played at the opening of Dave's funeral! I hugged her tight and told her about the songs significance in Dave's life, and how here she was wearing the lyrics on her 12th birthday. She hadn't been at the funeral, but she hadn't needed to be. Dave chose her to deliver a message to us. I quickly texted my dad and a brother who is very into God-incidences these days. What a little gift!
Dave will live on forever in our hearts. A lesson I need to take to heart from Dave's life is to party it up just a little more. Let go of all the detailed planning and be more willing to go with it. Also, let the music move you. Always let the music minister to your heart and soul. You will be missed, David.
Interestingly enough, two days later was Lene's 12th birthday--her last year before the teen years set in. She had been disappointed not to be able to attend the funeral as she was feeling under the weather. I didn't want her to push herself with the distance we had to drive, plus her big birthday plans. There were some tears, but she decided not to attend. The morning of Lene's big day she got ready for some girl time with her bestie. We had a pedicure and went to sushi for lunch. We got Starbucks and then went by another party for a friend at a local park. It was there that I took a picture of her, really took it all in, and I couldn't stop smiling.
Dave will live on forever in our hearts. A lesson I need to take to heart from Dave's life is to party it up just a little more. Let go of all the detailed planning and be more willing to go with it. Also, let the music move you. Always let the music minister to your heart and soul. You will be missed, David.
