Goodness in remembering

Ok, so now I am thinking more about death, heaven, hell, and the soul. I was starting to think that I have never really grieved. I have never felt death that close. But then again I wonder.

The first funeral I remember was the funeral for my great grandfather - my dad's grandpa. I think we sang "Mansions Will Glisten on the Streets of Glory" at the funeral, my dad on his guitar, my sister singing, and me on the violin (note: no reference to fiddle - read the the book mentioned in the previous post). But I never new my great grandfather. No real sense of loss.

The next taste of death, and I may be messing up the orders of these chronologically, was the passing of Dr. Dave Hildebrand and his wife. Dr. Dave inspired me. He was our orchestra conductor. He encouraged me to do "special numbers" while he played the piano as my backup. He taught me how to play rook. And it is his leadership style, I think, that I mostly closely mirror more than anyone else: a tremendous musician with the gift and skill to inspire amateurs to learn to play together and make beautiful worship. His sudden death was a shock, to put it mildly. I was in grade 11 I think. John, their son, was on our football team, and I knew Tim as a college kid I looked up to. Dr. Dave was buried in the cemetery at the end of our street. I grieved, but not too deeply, I don't think. I try to honor him, in how I work with people in music and I do think about him from time to time, especially when I feel like complaining about my situation or when the music I am involved with is sucking. Mainly because I never EVER heard him complain once and if anyone had reason to, it was him. Incidentally, I received the scholarship in his name every year I was in Bible College. I am very grateful.

I think it was my grandma who passed away next. I think it was my freshman year in college. I think this because my grandma came to live with my parents and I don't remember a lot about when she was there. I think I was in the dorm. I think I wanted to avoid the situation, probably because it made me uncomfortable. My grandma was sick and my mom was taking care of her in her last days. My mom was the one that carried the whole weight of that. I am sorry that I stayed so distant in that time. My only memory of that time after was of the viewing. We were there with my mom's family and the funeral director left us there with my grandma for an awful long time. We cried and grieved, like we thought we should. But that didn't take long. Awkward silence followed. Then snickers. And before long, we in stitches, for no particular reason. Probably because of the awkwardness of it.

Then there was Josh. He was my best friend while my family lived in northern Manitoba. After we moved, we kept in touch. We wrote letters and sent tapes of our song ideas - he was an amazing musician. But then, the letters and tapes traversed our provinces less frequently. I went back to visit him once. Then, we just lost touch. There was thread of connection through his parents friendship with my parents and his sister's friendship with my sister. That was about it. And it was through those thin connections that I got word he was struggling with schizophrenia. Like the "good" friend I was, I didn't do anything to contact him. Nothing. A heavy regret I carry to this day. And it was through those thin connections that I heard he had passed away.

We went to the funeral in Winkler MB, Angela, my parents and I. There were so many people I watched it all from a tent outside. I sobbed like a baby. And sadly it wasn't tears for him, it was my guilt and shame for not reconnecting with him. It was the "only ifs" that stung. But, as little as I know about grieving, I think that may be part of the package cause I think I've hit different stages in the process at various times. Now, if I cry, it is because a mother and father lost a son, a brother and two sisters lost a brother, I have lost a friend and this world has lost a magnificent man.

I have heard a bit of his God journey near the end of his life. He lived for God but it was a struggle. . .

(A pause. I am just sitting here, remembering)

So that is really the extent of my close brushes with death. I am not sure why I wrote that all, but you may be surprised to know that there is happiness for me in writing this. It has been good remembering. It has been good for my soul.