Memorials and Memories.

I sat listening to stories about a friend's father, being bathed in the loving laughter of those around me. They were good memories, strong memories, the kind to bring back out and savor when you need to smile. One told by my friend was of her childhood, of when her father would be ready to leave for church in the morning but the rest of the family wasn't. He would announce, "I will be leaving for church in two minutes and thirty-six seconds!" His exacting times to push the family out the door became an inside joke to those who knew him and loved him.

I also saw the tears of those who would now miss him, for we sat in pews of the church he'd attended for his memorial service. Memories of his strong faith in the God who created him and the ways he kept that faith strong were shared by those he had touched. He memorized scripture and sang hymns, and urged--maybe even nagged--those he loved to do the same. And they were going to miss it all.

I can't pretend to know what other people think, but being Queen Of The Navel-Gazers, I tend to feel self-reflective after memorial services: what have I done to be remembered? How do I want the rest of my days to look?

How do memorial services affect you?


Skimmer's Recap: Julie, who attended her friend's father's very positive memorial service, decides she would also like to be remembered with laughter and cake.