Burying the dead

My husband just returned from the funeral of his cousin-in-law who died of cancer. This cousin was just a couple years older than us and had three kids about the same ages as our middle three. He was diagnosed with ALS several years ago and was part of an experimental study at Emory University that involved implanting stem cells at the base of his skull. After the first treatment, he had a very good response. His ALS symptoms abated and his quality of life improved, and he became an advocate for research into ALS treatment and right to try laws.  The second round was followed by the diagnosis of a glioblastoma in his brain. The ALS didn't kill him, but the brain tumor he developed metastasized, and he died just four days after the doctors said they could nothing more.

My husband debated going to the funeral. His parents weren't going because his father had just had heart surgery - a defibrillator placed because of tachychardia.  None of his siblings were going. And I don't think anyone expected him or his siblings to go to a funeral all the way across the country in less than a week.  But when they were younger, my husband and this cousin whose husband died were good friends. They spent a lot of time together growing up, and when he was in college he went to her family's house for Thanksgiving a few times.  We went to each other's weddings and visited them in New York as newlyweds years ago. She was one of the few in the extended family who made an effort to keep in touch by sending baby gifts and birthday cards to the kids when they were younger. I reciprocated for awhile, but trailed off as the kids grew older.  We've stayed in touch through other cousins' weddings, their grandmother's big birthday celebrations, her funeral, and through Facebook and Christmas cards.

So when a cheap fare was available, as was a cheap hotel, my husband decided to go to the funeral.  I wasn't really excited about him going after he was gone the weekend before to see our boys at college for a football game with their younger brother.  We didn't have much on the schedule for the weekend, and we haven't had any recent financial "emergencies" like new car tires or appliance repairs.

And I had a hard time thinking of the trip in financial terms only. I struggle with maintaining relationships with people I once loved but who now live far away because we or they have moved. We often keep in touch via Facebook, but only on the surface of life: "Here we are at a football game. Here we are at graduation. Here we are on vacation, having a nice life."

That is something, and I'm glad I know something about the lives of these relatives.  But I also know how nourishing even short visits in person with family can be.  I loved being able to go home with my oldest daughter for my grandmother's funeral from Guam. My husband was grateful he was able to spend time with his mom when she was undergoing breast cancer treatments. He also has no twinge of regret that he and our two oldest boys went to his grandmother's funeral, which was a huge celebration of her life and the joy that all her children and grandchildren shared in each other's presence.

So even though this funeral was much more solemn because it was for someone in midlife rather than at the end of a long and happy life, it was still a celebration of our cousin's courage to stay cheerful in the face of a mortal illness, and his commitment to his family and friends and community, including his church.  And my husband commented that his cousin and the kids seemed to be comforted by the presence of all these people who were inspired by their husband/father.  It is nice to send a card that says "I'm sorry for your loss."  But to share a hug and a glass of scotch to toast the departed is a different, deeper kind of condolence.

Comfort for the living is surely part of the reason why "bury the dead" is one of the acts of mercy.