I spent the morning at a funeral today. It wasn’t the least bit depressing, though. The deceased was the grandfather of a good friend of mine, and it was interesting to see the size of his legacy, both familial and spiritual. He was survived by 13 grandchildren and around 18 great-grandchildren, and it was a pleasure to serve witness to the depth of their love, affection and respect for the man.
It was also good to feel the genuine sense of celebration of a race well run. There was a little sorrow expressed, but not much, and I like to imagine him walking up a hill in the sunshine with his arms stretched out towards a little girl, smiling as he tells her that great-grandaddy’s finally here, just like great-grandma promised. (The family lost an infant girl in a car accident a few years back.) Perhaps that’s not how it works, but that’s how I’d prefer it to be, anyhow.
Of course, the man probably never walked up a hill in his life; he always ran. I rather enjoyed him, for he was not only a man of God, but something of a character who had an absolute obsession with performing the sort of daily exercises that are disdained these days by physical trainers. But then, he not only made it to 95, he was also considerably more spry than many individuals three decades younger. In light of that, I may have to consider adding jumping jacks and deep knee bends to my exercise regimin.
It was a beautiful day.