Funerals always make me think.
I don't like this first sentence. It's too short. Too simple for the topic of this post. However, it's the truth and sometimes, it's best to just say things as they are.
I've not been to many in my life time, thank God, but of the ones I've attended, I always end up following a long and in depth string of thoughts; sometimes about life itself, other times about the people whom surround me. Death is never an easy concept to cope with and perhaps this is my 'coping mechanism'. I suppose it's better than resorting to self-destructiveness such as over drinking, emotionally shutting down, denial or any of the other devices people tend to fall back upon at the loss of a loved one.
Today was Lori's father's funeral. Out on Long Island in a Jewish
cemetery on, what one may ironically call 'a beautiful day', we all stood around, paying our last respects to a man known as a loving husband, father, uncle, and brother. Howie had suffered from
Alzheimer's for many years, the past 5 months being the worst. As I looked at the coffin in the ground, I found myself thinking in cliches: He's in a better place. At least he's not suffering. We'll remember him as he was over a year ago, not how he has been for the better part of a year. All of which were certainly true.
Elegies were read by his three children, tears were shed and prayers were recited. Drifting in and out of the main service, I found myself contemplating the rabbi; a seemingly odd thing to think about, no doubt. Here was a man who has seen, one can assume, as many deaths as he has births, and I began to wonder: how is it he
separates his own emotion from the immense emotion that joins, hand in hand, with death? At one time in my life, I intended on joining the
rabbanit; since then, my plans have changed. However, thinking back to my
preconceived notion of the profession, I don't think I ever once took into consideration the immense emotional burden (or perhaps that is not the appropriate phrase word to use) that came with the job. While I was ready to give advice where needed, I never once thought what would happen when, eventually, someone would pass away. The need to
separate myself, my emotions (and, as most of you know, I am a rather emotional person to start with), to ensure I was providing the support needed for the ailing families of the lost. Today, I wondered how this man did just that. How can anyone
separate themselves, emotionally, from death, especially when you are around it so often? Is it something that you must learn, as doctors, policemen, and firefighters must do in order to effectively carry out their jobs? Or is it something that comes naturally? Something that
separates those same individuals from the rest of us? I certainly do not have the answer to this question, but it's something to ponder.
