To the Men Who Spoke at My Fathers Funeral

I don’t remember much about my father dying, I guess that’s because I wasn’t there – but I don’t remember much of him being sick either – some would call that a blessing. I just know I wish I was there for him when he needed me most…

Don’t get me wrong I know the bad stuff, the boxes of food to go through his feeding tube, the sounds of him keeled over the toilet in the morning, how worried my mother was – and the looks on family friends faces.

Yeah, I guess when it comes down to it I don’t remember much about my father dying, and come to think of it I don’t remember much about his funeral either – but what I do remember is one voice – the voice of my coach.

So a little background about me, I was raised Quaker and the definitions on that will most definitely appear on another post but what that means for this one is that funerals for us are not Like funerals for Christians, Catholics, Methodists or Jewish people. No, because in our service we focus on the person’s story.

Look at 14 you never think you’ll be sitting in a dress at your fathers funeral, you never imagine that your mom won’t let you wear black or that your friends will show up to support you – but as a Quaker, you could never be more grateful of all the amazing stories that are shared when a loved one dies.

The stories I heard then. At my fathers funeral were and are some that still resonate with me today. I couldn’t be more thankful for those times because no matter how painful. Those are the stories that keep the lost and allow them to remain here with us.

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