Family and a Funeral

Late last week my uncle Manuel passed away. He was the beloved husband of my aunt Martha, one of my mom's younger sisters. Devastated for my aunt and cousins, my husband and I flew to Chicago to lend some comfort and support during what had to be a terrible time for them. We were joined in Chicago by three of my cousins, the daughters of another of my mom's sisters. These precious cousins of mine, whom I lovingly refer to as the Sisters Trevi, knew first hand what my Chicago cousins were feeling, as they had lost their mom to cancer in early 2008. Like a warm, soft blanket on a chilly day, we enveloped our Chicago family and poured out our love and prayers on them.

As is the norm when family gathers, the stories of times long past began. My grieving aunt put her own pain aside to share with us stories of her sisters, our moms and aunts, that we'd never heard, and that, for me at least, gave me a whole new, deep respect and awe for the incredible woman I call mom. She told us of how she fell in love and married Manuel. Of not knowing how to cook or iron men's pants when newly married and having to be taught these things by our uncle. She spoke of a time when family meant everything. We laughed, we cried, we laughed some more. We perused old photos, admiring the fashion styles and big beehive hair our moms and aunt sported. We got to know my uncle in a way we didn't know him in life. We laughed, we cried, we laughed some more.

Family and friends came and went over the next few days, some unable to stay for the wake and funeral, others able to stay only long enough to pay their final respects. Each person brought with them a sense of comfort for my aunt and cousins, and I know the family was grateful for them all.

My uncle was buried on a beautifully sunny, unseasonably warm day. God blessed him on the day we said goodbye as much as He'd blessed him all his life. And as my aunt placed white roses on his marker, the family stood strongly around her, and her sisters stood on either side of her, a hand on her arm. These sisters, my mom and aunt, share a bond forged by love stronger than anything I've known. They are pillars of strength, bound together with an enduring love and respect for one another. I see much of who they are in all of their children, and I am grateful to call them all my family.

It is heartbreaking that there comes a time in our lives when the only time we reach out to one another is during times of hardship. Family are those we should surround ourselves with during the good times, as well as the bad. We should make an effort to see one another, not just at weddings and funerals, but whenever God blesses us with a chance to do so. After all, we are very much our families, as our families are us.

My uncle, may he rest in peace, lived a BIG life. He touched many lives and instilled in his own family a moral code and work ethic that is hard to find these days. He loved my aunt passionately, gently, without reservation. He gave the gift of life, donating his liver that another might have a new chance at life. He committed himself to his family and community, and left each for the better. He will be missed. But we all will find comfort in the knowledge that he will live on in the love, talents, and goodwill of his wife, children, and grandchildren.

Funerals are a time of deep sorrow and personal reflection. But this particular funeral, for me, has been a reminder that life is short. A reminder to hold fast to those I love, and to cherish every moment I share with them. I really must remember to tell them how much I love them, and to do it way more often than I have before.

Here's to the ones we love!


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