Funeral

During my pregnancy with Dominic, we finalized on a new home construction. Our first home was being built, and even from the hospital when he was born, I was thinking about all the details. When he was only six weeks old, we moved in.

It was a different world to go from student housing apartments to a home with all the walls our own. We looked forward to this new start of "real life". We'd looked forward to it for so many years.

We attended our first church meeting that weekend. I remember so distinctly how different it was in that congregation compared to the congregation we'd just left. Two things really stood out: they had actual young men who prepared and passed the sacrament, instead of Elders; and they had just had a funeral. It was so strange that an announcement had been made about a funeral. If it had been the novel of our life, I suppose some analysis of the text might have called that foreshadowing. Dominic's funeral would be the next one that the congregation would announce. And it would be only a couple months away.

I've been following a blog for a couple of years now of a medically fragile child and his family. Every so often, this blog posts about another child who has died. I can't help myself but to go to those families and offer and kind of attempt at "I'm sorry". A few days ago, another post was made. Another little girl was going to die.

This time the details brought so much up. She was at the same hospital where both Dominic and Bridget had died. The father briefly described their experience of having their family together, and blessings. Seemed so much like what we were doing not even a year and a half ago with Bridget.

Then a post of the obituary. I was just taken back. The address for the funeral was for the same chapel where we'd had Dominic's funeral! It seems such an odd coincidence.

I admit that I feel a bit of envy at the outpouring that family seems to have. And yet a part of me is so grateful that it is there for them. I hope with so much hope that their support will continue and that it will be a strength to them in the days, weeks, months, and yes, even years to come. If only every family who has to go down this path could have good friends and family in their lives, to mourn with them. Not only mourn for them.

When Dominic died, we'd only been in our new neighborhood a handful of weeks. Not long enough to really have made any deep connections. Yet it had been too long since we'd left the neighbors of our college days to still have the depth of connectedness we once had shared. We were in transition.

I often wonder if there is a God, and I believe there is. And if He truly was aware of all our needs, and I believe He is. And if He is in control of when a child is called home, and I believe He is. Why would He choose such a time in our lives? Why would He wish us to be lacking?

And yet, so many people did come to Dominic's funeral. Friends who were fading away from our lives resurfaced, and neighbors we were still getting acquainted with came. Even the pediatrician and his nurse who we had left behind made time to attend.

And as the days and weeks passed, there was still a watchcare for our family. Then my husband lost his job. It was just so awkward for people. What do you say to a family going through these experiences? A family who you don't really know anyway because they just moved in?

We'd already been going through difficulty with family. Things only got worse.

By the time we had Bridget, we felt very isolated. Still hadn't really had success with making new friends, and so much farther from the friends of our past. Our congregation had been redefined, even though we still lived in the same home. We were in transition.

I often wonder if there is a God, and I believe there is. And if He truly was aware of all our needs, and I believe He is. And if He is in control of when a child is called home, and I believe He is. Why would He choose such a time in our lives? Why would He wish us to be lacking? And why did He choose Saturday, September 8th again?

The circumstances only that much more awkward. Fewer people came to Bridget's funeral. But there were still many people who came. I was grateful this time for a guest book. I hadn't known about that for Dominic's funeral. People who I hadn't known had come were there, and I knew because they had left us a note in that guest book.

I look back over it all. And I wonder where did all those good people go? Jack Johnson's song seems an appropriate commentary, of people stopping to do their rubber-necking, but desensitized by being able to be removed from it all by watching it on what we lovingly call "the TeeVee". And perhaps there is something prophetic in the words of Matthew 24:12 "the love of many shall wax cold". But then why in John 14:18 are we promised, "I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you." Where is the comfort in all of this anguish?

Master, carest thou not that we perish?
And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.
And he said unto them, Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?
~Mark 4:38-40 (emphasis added)

Yes, I admit. I am of little faith. I am full of fear. I am impatient, wondering how long it will be before He will rebuke the wind and call upon the sea to be calm. And I feel comfortless.

I still try to cling so much to hope. The fire of my testimony seemed so much more stoked after Dominic died. We worked even harder to do the things that we felt would make us more worthy to be united again with Dominic. When we were forced to say goodbye to Bridget, we were still clinging to this faith. We left the hospital that morning and went to Temple Square. We held her funeral in the church meetinghouse where we had taken her earlier in the month to be blessed, and her older sister to be baptized. Holiness. Sacred.




And it seems to mock me now. Symbols of what is so good in this world, where people are taught to be even like Him. And those same people, professing His name. Taking His name upon them on their lips, as those young men give them the sacrament. Where are they now?

Forasmuch as this people draw near me with their mouth, and with their lips do honour me, but have removed their heart far from me
~Isa. 29: 13

And yet I still have an anchor of testimony. Among all of my questions, there is little if any of doubt. I have to believe. But I still often wonder if there is a God, and I believe there is. And if He truly was aware of all our needs, and I believe He is. And if He is in control of when a child is called home, and I believe He is. Why would He choose such a time in our lives? Why would He wish us to be so very lacking? And why did He choose Saturday, September 8th again? And why would he grant another family so much more outward love and support, while another seems quietly ignored?

That same weekend when Bridget was in the hospital, our congregation changed leadership. God is aware of even the little sparrow that falls (see Matthew 10), and so would He not also be aware of Bridget's dire condition? And would He not want for there to be less confusion of who would be there to help? If there is a God, and I believe there is. And if He is inspiring these changes, and I want to believe He does. Why would he choose this weekend?

I still lament that in those most difficult days, when we were so desperately trying to find a way to get our older kids to the hospital to see their little sister before she died, that we were told that no one in the congregation could help. And in despair I uttered, "we need more friends!" Only to be answered with, "no, you need more friends who don't work." As if we were of no consequence, second or third or farther down the list in priority of a vacation day that had to be spared for some other more worthy occasion. And somehow suggesting we really did have friends, but that our friendship was of less importance than a day on the job. Is this what a friend is? Would not a friend lay down his life (see John 15:13), let alone take a few hours from their schedule to help?

And how I wondered how God, being no respecter of persons, could have used me as an instrument when I had sacrificed my schedule to take others to the hospital in their hour of need, but there was no one here to reciprocate in our hour. And how I wondered, of these people who make covenants, who preach of sacrifice. Was this not a time to act? If I had been Christ, asking in this desperate time, would I have been treated the same?

Then saith he unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me.
And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.
And he cometh unto the disciples, and findeth them asleep, and saith unto Peter, What, could ye not watch with me one hour?
~Matthew 26:38-40

And I feel so close to Him. Feeling as if His words are my own. My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even until death... if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.. not as I will, but as thou wilt.

Could ye not watch with me one hour?