To Be Left Here

I once thought funerals were part of the Death Application Process. I thought that souls needed an extra push from living people to send them up to heaven. In my mind, I guess I thought that funerals helped the soul bounce like a pinball up to Yonder. That the songs we sang could fuel them for the ride up the escalator. That the tears might water the dusty trail to the crossroads. 

My dad always says, “funerals are for the living.” They’re a chance for us to take a sacred moment out of our day to remember that someone was here. That they lived and breathed. That they had an impact. And sometimes that impact strikes a blow for all sorts of reasons. 

I am still dealing with the grief of losing people in my own life. Losing Aunties who were ill. Losing Deacons who knew how to get a prayer through. Losing students who were victims to gun violence. Losing family members who were gone before I got here. Losing family members who passed before I really got to know them. Losing people who are still living. (That’s the mindfck, my God)

And now I know that funerals are for the living. They’re for those of us who are Left Here. Because to be Left Here is among the worst punishments. Maybe this is something that happens because Someone is orchestrating it, or maybe not. But when you are Left Here, you find yourself cursing the one in charge of the Death Application Process. Why not take This Applicant instead of that one? Why this one, Now? This person has no experience, they’re too young for Death! 

This week, we’ve heard news of a tragic death of a very influential person, among several others. I was on my couch with my Beloved and our good friend in a post-church hangout circle. We had been talking and eating leftovers, until one of us scrolled on our phone and saw a cryptic “Oh no, not Kobe.” 

Furiously, we scrambled for more information. My Beloved, a basketball player, took it the hardest. She’d met him in person and couldn’t believe the news. She was not alone. Soon, we came to find out that other people all across the world were finding out the news as we were, even before a press conference. There was speculation. Mourning. Selfies of tears. Photo tributes. And yes, reminders that he had caused harm to a very vulnerable person.

We sat in the post-church circle holding all this together and letting it all fall apart. 

“Funerals are for the living.”

In addition to many People mourning someone who meant a lot to them, I think something else is happening, too. 

People are mourning the fragility of life. 

How easy it is for life to be gone. 

How triggering it is to watch death (and speculation of death) happen in real time on the timeline. 

How strange grief feels in the body. 

How unexpected the waves of sadness roll through when you never met a person. 

How the death of a celebrity reminds you of the death of someone you knew personally. Perhaps all the memories you may have had with someone because this recently deceased person was a shared figure for you both. And maybe you’re grieving that. 

The “it’s not supposed to be this way” refrain when children pass. 

When families pass. 

When machines that are supposed to be in the sky come tumbling down. And when you yourself could have been in a thing in the sky that may have tumbled down. 

The evil of a social media landscape that tells the world before it tells the family. 

The pressure to say something first. 

The ugliness of what we actually are gesturing towards when we use the euphemism “complicated legacy.” 

The empathy of wondering how remaining family members will pick up the pieces, because you yourself, were in a family that had to pick up the pieces. 

And then there is the pain of not feeling like you can grieve properly because your Master, er, Boss, wants you to work. 

Something human in us is disturbed. 

Grief is not neat. And it defies all other logic. 

It’s all happening, all at once. All the feels, on ten, while the clock is paused and winding down and moving forward at the same time. 

And we have to all get up tomorrow and go about our day. 

I think people are reacting to the story and something bigger than the story. Death, anyone’s death, has a way of making us wonder what it means to live. What it means to be human. And everyone is wondering about this very sacred thing together... online.... in real time.... in our own little corners and in our own little chairs. 

We were not made to live like *this.* No person ought to die -like this-. And it’s hard to believe in goodness, or love, or joy, or God, when a death like this is ever possible.

Helicopters are not supposed to come crashing down.

Pop stars are not supposed to overdose.

Humans are not supposed to die of starvation or poisoned water.

Fires are not supposed to burn land beyond recognition. 

Worshippers are not supposed to be interrupted by gunfire.

Women are not supposed to be targeted and followed and murdered.

Children are not supposed to be killed by police on their way home. 

Stingrays are not supposed to kill the folks who taught us how to love and care for animals.

Bombs and drones are not supposed to decimate entire communities and histories at once. Perhaps that is what they are designed for, but they’re not supposed to do that.

It’s not supposed to happen like this, but it does.

Of course, we always know that these things are possible. We know what kind of world we live in. We know the risks. And yet, deep down, there is some very tender human part of us that wishes it would not happen this way. There is a part of us that hurts because we love. We get disappointed because we hope. It is the worst part of feeling human. It is exactly why parents dread getting their children a pet. Because the death conversation is one that even adults struggle with. How do we explain what death is, what it means, why it happens, how to avoid it, how to embrace it? 

I don’t have answers. I’m still dealing with what death means to me. I’m still dealing with how this moment has reminded me of all the grieving I have swept into the back room of my heart. I’ve closed the door and pretended like the mess wasn’t back there. It’s time to go back there and at least sweep. 

For my own self, I’ll be listening to Left Behind from the Spring Awakening soundtrack on repeat. Later this week, I’ll be watching Disney’s Coco.  There are some other things I know that I need to do, but that’s for me. I hope you can find the things you need for you. 

We are left here. I don’t know why. I don’t have an Instagrammable quote for you because it’s really not that simple. Death is funky, confusing, disorienting, strange, gut-wrenching… and sometimes it can be freeing. You are welcome to all of those feelings and more because you are a human with capacity for dynamic emotions.

But for today, it’s okay to just let feelings wash over. 

Funerals are for the living. Let us do so in our own ways. 

“All things he never did are left behind

All the things his mama wished he'd bear in mind

And all his dad had hoped he'd know

The talks you never had

The Saturdays you never spent

All the grown-up places

You never went…”

—Left Behind, Spring Awakening.