Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there, I did not die.-Frye
I’ve thought a great deal about dying but I honestly haven’t thought very much about being dead. I haven’t thought too much about lying in a box, peacefully posed, embalmed with no heartbeat. Why? I guess because well, I won’t be there. The best of me will be gone and only my “meat suit” will remain. As someone who walks by faith and not by sight, I know where I’ll be. When I am dead I will be in the best place I’ve ever been, with Christ. My soul will be in Heaven and all will be well. When I am gone I promise I will be fine, it’s those that I leave behind that may not be…at least for a little while.
I believe my funeral will be a sight to see, there will be so many people there, I’m sure of it, especially if I die young. That’s sounds conceited I know but remember, I’m dead so what would I gain from a big crowd? I say this because I’m partially aware of the affect I have on those around me. They see me, and the way walk with mild CP and they pity me. Then they think my Service Dog is cute and they want to pet him. For the few that venture beyond and actually talk to me for five minutes, they’re impressed because they didn’t expect me to be so bold, or mature, or honest. Then hopefully-if I’m living in love and not selfishness-they walk away feeling inspired. I like that. I’m extremely grateful that my God designated me to be an encourager. Building people up builds me up too. When you care, people notice and that’s why I think there will be many near my casket when this chapter ends.
The morbid introduction of my fictitious funeral is not necessarily because death has been on my mind, but because of what we leave behind, wherever we go. Not just when we’re gone for good, when we leave a job, or a city, or even a room for that matter. What is the invisible impression your own soul puts out there? Seriously, who are you in people’s stories? What role do you play?
The thing about the crowd I may draw to my corpse at the end of it all-is that I don’t care. People go to funerals for themselves, not for the one that has passed. There is an immense difference between fans and followers. I may have many but if it were to happen soon (God forbid, I still have quite the bucket list) it will be quantity and not quality, all those who adore me hardly know me at all.
Too many admirers at my funeral will anger those whose hearts carry mine. The handful of souls I’d walk through fire for and likewise. Those whose hearts I carry in my very own, my blood or no blood “sang ou pas de sang, la famille est choisi.” My chosen family may not take too kindly the impending crowd. The loyalty in the ones I have loved that have loved me back may get the best of them. Perhaps they should not go, nobody likes a riot at a funeral.
Often times, those who are leaders (officially or not) in life often end up alone in a crowded room. It takes strength to be a leader and when people see strength the last thing they think of is weakness, so more often than not, there’s no one to lean on. Think of celebrities, universally known, cheered for, worshipped even, day in and day out but who really knows them? How many people can they afford to let in? Even the best fall down sometimes. Legendary leader, or faithful follower people are not meant to be alone. Period. Don’t just show up at the end for someone. Be there, actually be there, in whatever way you know how before it is simply an obligation.
My role is different depending when exactly, and who exactly. As much as I’d like to believe I was a mini Mother Teresa to everyone I know, I’m very aware that I was not. I’ve been the villain, I’ve been the emotional scars, I’ve been the inspiration, I have been the problem, I’ve been the sickness, I have been the bully and the backstabber. I have even been the hero a time or two. I ‘ve been every sin and every virtue, it just depends which me you’ve met.
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