Year of the Funerals

I had been working on a pithy blog post about the deficiencies of the Golden Rule, and I may still get back to it, but I have abandoned it for now and will forge ahead with thoughts I have had lately. Also, I have been sick in bed with some crud the past few days so I am sure that colors my thoughts.  My thoughts have also been colored by my sorting work at my mother's house. 

For the last several weeks, I have been at work de-junking at my mother's house, this time in my dad's office.  I have spent about thirty-six hours in there lately, and I am not finished.  Just as an example, I spent ten hours on only two drawers.  Papers are the most time-consuming to sort, especially when I have to read through things to see if they should be kept or thrown away.  It is a very poignant project as I remember again and again all these loved ones who are gone.

One category of items I have come across are old letters to my father and from my father when he was away in the military during World War II.  Of course, I was not around then but I know all of the family members who are mentioned in the letters.  I do not read all the letters--there simply are not hours in the day for that.  I do read letters from people whose names I do not recognize to see whether their letters should be kept (usually not) and, occasionally, I will read a letter here or there from someone I do know.  You have no idea how many times I have had thoughts like this:  "I need to go visit Aunt Genevieve and ask her about this person/event."  "I think I will call Uncle Don and talk to him about his."  And so it goes as I am immersed in old letters and documents and I just completely forget that virtually all the people I am reading about are dead now.  I mean, I have not REALLY forgotten.  However, I just momentarily forget for just the slightest little instant because I am so caught up in the old letters and the old things from that long ago time. 

Another thing I often find myself doing is sending some kind of mental telepathy though time, "Grandpa, you will pass away in the few months.  Be aware!"  Or to my uncles or aunts who lost spouses during the war or who died during the war, I am sending out messages back in time: "You/your spouse will not live to see the end of the war!"  Of course, I know these messages are not going back in time and I do not speak the warnings aloud.  (Do not send the guys with the straight jackets!) But I cannot keep my thoughts from forming warnings.

I have also been thinking of the value of the written word, as opposed to the fragile and ephemeral quality of the electronic word.  If all these letters had been email, they would all be gone now, lost forever on some fried and obsolete hard drive.  And what should happen with these letters that have survived the test of time is a post for another day . . . perhaps.

Saturday, I attended another funeral for G.E.Stratton, a man I knew in Hurricane, and it was a very nice service.  All of his children spoke and all of them did a wonderful job paying tribute to their father.  Once again it is sad to see the adults of my youth leave all of us "youngsters" behind, and he was not really all that old.  There are just some people who I thought would be around forever somehow, the way irrational thoughts like that find a roost in our brains.

(My cousin who passed is on the right side.  The other two are her siblings.)

Then, I received word yesterday that my cousin Jean, my oldest cousin on my mother's side, had quietly succumbed to brain cancer just that morning.  Earlier this year, I posted about the graveside of her husband.  They both seem too young to have it be their turn to go but there is no rhyme or reason to death.  I will be attending her graveside in northern Utah next week (assuming I am over the crud).

This really feels like the year of the funerals to me from the little "re-funerals" I go through in my de-junking to the actual funerals that I have attended this year, with my mother's funeral being the big funeral for my year. 

I guess that is one dynamic of middle age, that you begin to know as many people in the Great Beyond as you know here, and this year I officially took one step toward the other side of the middle, so I suppose I am not finished with funerals for some years yet.  And I am not finished with all that sorting and "time travel."  Surely there are things to learn in all of this, like:  "Life is short."  Perhaps that is a post for another day, too.