Last week, I simultaneously experienced the sadness of attending a funeral and the honor of being among those in attendance who were better for having been a part of a service that celebrated the life of a young man who considered everyone he met a friend.
I’ll admit it was difficult to come to terms with our friend’s passing. It’s troubling to say goodbye to someone only 7 months my elder. None of us are 20 anymore, but we’re still at the age when a passing is referred to with words like “gone too soon,” “way too young” and “called home early.”
It was a service unlike most I’ve attended. Many grieving families welcome mourners to a “celebration service,” the phrase often serving as nothing more than a euphemism used to make a funeral sound more palatable. That was not the case with this service.
As I listened intently to our friend’s daughter, his brother, his sister, his best friend and his pastors, I was overwhelmed by the true sense of celebration in their voices and in their stories. And it soon became evident that this occasionalthough difficult on all fronts—was one lined with hope, with joy, with a true spirit of celebration unlike any farewell event I’d attended, except for that of my own sainted Mother.
We shed tears. We smiled. We laughed. Yes, during the service, we laughed every bit as much as we cried. I’m not certain how many bereaved were in attendance. It must have been several hundreds. Standing room only inside a sanctuary with copious space.
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