Reflections

I met my dear friend's Mother this weekend for the first time.  It was her funeral.

I watched my friend and her family talk about their Mother, and laugh at the crazy things she did.  Like emptying out the toothpaste and filling it with peanut butter (I'm totally doing that).

She's a woman that is loved. A woman that is fun to be around. A woman that has had an influence on many. A woman that is missed.

A woman I never met, and yet I openly wept.

My heart hurt for them, and the pain and loss they were feeling.

Meeting my friends Mother for the first time made me reflect on my own life-- how would my family and friends feel about me when I was 86 years old? Would they have positive, funny things to share about me? I certainly hope there are funny things to share.  Laughter is important to me. 

My friend and I talked for the 3 hour drive-- each way-- of our lives and where they had been, where they were and where they were going.  We talked about unfilled expectations and the fact that life never follows the script that we wrote when we were children. The trick is learning to embrace that new, ever changing script that life hands you.

Death has a way of causing you to reflect on your life and what is truly important.

I haven't had the cause for reflection since Jefe's Father was killed.  I spent a lot of time after his death thinking about my life, and  how I wanted to be remembered. I realized that my family would be distraught when I died (they better be!) and that it would be a great service if I wrote my Obituary myself. So I did.  It's saved in my draft folder, that Obituary.

When Jefe's Dad died, the one thing I regret is the fact that his Obituary was handled by someone who had no emotional tie to him. His father was an Author and an English Professor-- a wordsmith really-- and his obituary was a cold, hard assortment of words.  I don't want that-- I want people to know that I loved them, I was loyal to them and I Believed.

Morbid? Maybe.

I thought about each of my children, and what I wanted them to know.  What I wanted them to feel.

I thought of Jefe and what I wanted him to know and the fact that I don't want him to be alone. He doesn't like to be alone, that man of mine. And, I'm OK with him remarrying. After 365 days of mourning,  that is. 

Here's the thing: I don't want weeping and wailing and the proverbial gnashing of teeth.

I want a party, with lots of laughing and for people to share all the stupid things I did throughout my life.  And trust me. There is a lot.

I want food.  Lots and lots of food.

I want music. Loud, happy music.  Preferably live bands. You could dance if you wanted to.

None of this depressing crying stuff.  Be happy people.

I know that I'll take flack for this next one, but I want to be cremated and buried with a new tree.  I want my friends and family to be able to come and sit under me-- my tree-- and feel me there when they hear the wind through the trees.  Because I will be there, you know.

This weekend I did some heavy soul searching and realized that the only thing that is really important are the relationships that we have. Not houses. Or cars. Or where we go to school but people.  That's all that matters.  People.  And the way we make them feel.

When I saw my friend at the funeral home, I hugged her fiercely.  She then took me by the hand and said "Come. Meet my Mom." And, it was an honor to do so.