I had too much to say this week and so I didn’t say anything.
Last Sunday was Father’s Day and Monday was the sixth anniversary of my father’s death. The week before Paul and I attended the funeral of a nineteen year old boy from church who was killed in a car accident. It was the most beautiful and holy funeral I have ever attended and I have been to many in my relatively short life.
I recently picked up a book of essays called The Undertaking – Life Studies From a Dismal Trade by Thomas Lynch, an undertaker and poet who lives in Milford, Michigan. He is such a good writer and writes so wisely and well about death, the dead and those who survive them. This book would have been good company any time, but especially this week.
“In even the best of caskets, it never all fits-all that we’d like to bury in them: the hurt and forgiveness, the anger and pain, the praise and thanksgiving, the emptiness and exaltations, the untidy feelings when someone dies. So I conduct this business carefully…”
(from the essay Jessica, the Hound and the Casket Trade, page 191)
