On funerals and other things

“I liked those ladies! They were helpers, and they danced.' These are the words I want on my gravestone: that I was a helper, and that I danced.”

― Anne Lamott, Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith

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I love funerals

because they are usually hopeful (all about God’s love)

and kind

(he was a great father, when he really wasn’t all that great)

But they are appropriate

these words of faith and compassion

I hate funerals

because they reveal my own struggles with faith

(does God really love me, really?)

and my own tendency not to be kind to my self

(if they have a funeral for me, probably no one will come)

funny how sometimes

as the evening stretches on

such thought wander into one’s mind

it wasn’t a bad day

I taught a course (it was not excellent, but adequate)

saw some clients (does anyone ever get better from working with me?)

had the annual board meeting for my agency (I still have a job)

and now, as I think about bed

I can feel the fatigue

my neck hurts

and my mind is sore

part of me is just tired and a little down

but part of me grabs hold of the thought

that there were moments when I did help

and did dance

and made someone smile