Being alive enough to love death

A week ago, I attended a memorial service. This was the first one for me in this country. I loved it!

Family members got to speak about their relationship they had with the person who passed away. He was a wonderful man whom I did not have the pleasure to meet. I was there because I care about one of his wonderful daughters. This post is with all my respect for he and his family.

The whole public speaking and sharing stories is a new idea for me, I was fascinated listening how each family member, or friend who has experienced the same person in very different ways. The common thing on the speeches was that this person was a loving father, uncle, grandfather, and friend. All of them spoke about the moments when they felt inspired, loved, understood, or celebrated by him. There I was, learning from him, even though I only meet him at his memorial service.

This is it. It does not matter, how many languages, diplomas, houses, cars, or career accomplishments one can achieve. The only thing that matter is how passionate we are about life and how much we care about those near us.

In my family traditions, people get to the mass in the Catholic Church, the priest talk about the death person and the rest of the people cry all the way until the cemetery. If one is lucky and the priest is a family friend, the speech will be more accurate. If not, it will be whatever the priest is feeling to say this day. I do not like that, I never did. However, I like the ritual of the next nine days when the family prays every night and get to share food and stories about their beloved. I remember, I was a young age when I told my mom that for my funeral I wanted Mariachi music, and a party with food. Of course, my mom always changed the topic.

I really meant it. I am living my life in the way I want ever since I am a child. I enjoy most of my days, and enjoy most of my friends. For sure, I enjoy all my meals with company or without it. I am doing the career I always wanted. I danced, loved, and made love with passion and intensity. I drank coffee or tea with most of my friends and spent hours talking about life. I cried, loved, worked, and played hard. So please, in my funeral or memorial service, in English or Spanish, feel free to laugh, dance, and share stories. Do not let the priest talk about me unless he or she knew me. Feel free to enjoy the day with me. This is a celebration. Whoever attends will have an excuse to leave work or other responsibilities for a noble purpose and, I am going to heaven (oh, yes, after my wonderful life here, I am going to heaven). I lived my life convinced that every day is a brand new day to love, to care, and to share. So please, this day do the same.

Now, this is not a good bye, I have plans to stay around for another 40 years . . . at least. The point here is that every memorial service, funeral or person who die gives us the opportunity to reflect in our own lives. It is like weddings that make us to reflect about romance.

Here is the question for today: Do you love your life enough to love your death?

 

 

 

 

 


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