She Was Love
Jun. 24th, 2010 09:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jadelyntateSo, new non-fiction peice. I may turn this into one part of a segmented essay. It deals with the funeral of my cousin Lacey.
She Was Love
About a year ago, my little cousin, Lacey, died. She had suffered from medical complications all her life. A few months beforehand, she was told she couldn't eat or drink orally as it would not go into her stomach but her lungs. While staying at a friends house, she got thirsty in the middle of the night. Half asleep and not fully aware of what she was doing, she drank a glass of water.
Paramedics were able to revive her from the accidental drowning but she was in a vegetative state. Surrounded by her family and friends, she was taken off life support and passed away on May 15th, 2009.
Now, I've been to a couple funerals in my short life—my grandmothers, my grandfathers, a classmate and family friend named Destiny. All them were somber, lifeless affairs. People mourned, people cried, people threw tantrums, and demanded of God to know why these people had been taken. I myself had done all of the above at my grandma Karleen's funeral when I was fourteen. But, like Lacey, her funeral wasn't a funeral in the traditional sense—it was a celebration of her life and the lives she'd touched in her short, eighteen years.
Lacey had known most of her life that time was short, that it went too quickly. She refused to be left behind and did things that I, healthy, hearty, older, am still terrified of doing. Her celebration was to be done to her specifications. No sermons were to be said, no speeches given. She just wanted people to connect, to remember her, and not to give up on their dreams. If there are tears, she said once, I want them to be tears of laughter, not pain. I'll be with God, my suffering will be done. Treasure that knowledge and do not linger on the fact I'm gone from Earth.
I remembered her words as I walked into the church. It was ginormous, big enough for at least five hundred people, and unsurprisingly, was already half full. Lacey's family was large, both her parents had several siblings and all of them had kids of their own. I had met several of the Gonzales side before but not all of them. At least, not that I could remember.
It wasn't just family who had come, however. Her classmates were there in force, wearing t-shirts with her smiling image on them. She would have a full page in her senior yearbook, added completely last minute by her classmates. Her mother would be given it at the graduation ceremony only a few weeks after the funeral. Her older brother, who'd been attending UC-Boulder, was surrounded by his fraternity brothers, all of whom had met and liked Lacey; she was the their little sister. Three whole rows were of doctors and nurses and specialists from the hospital, all touched by Lacey's struggles and her relentless optimism. Four families who had had children in the hospital at the same time as Lacey before, heard about her death and came. A young man who's now deceased little sister had been her roommate four years back, showed up.
As four o'clock approached, the church, silent but for the broken cries of Lacey's mother, grew still. This wasn't the celebration she'd wanted.
Then her father stood up and explained that, as per Lacey's wishes, they would tell stories. They would celebrate her life by remembering it. They would tell of Lacey and the joys, triumphs, and laughter she'd had.
I don't remember who went first. The stories seem to go on forever, each more lighthearted and joyful than the last. One fraternity brother told a story of how she'd go down and visit him when he worked as a valet at the hospital. A nurse told of how, one day, Lacey got permission to go out for lunch and came back with balloons and pizza for all the children on her floor. Another told of how she would go sit with an old man, dying of cancer, and read to him so his wife, children, and grandchildren could eat, sleep, and shower.
Then, as I was trying to get up the courage to speak to all these people I didn't know, a man stood up. He started by saying he'd never gotten the chance to know Lacey. He was there to help celebrate a life cut too short.
And then he preached.
For an hour and a half, he preached about the love of God, the sacrifice of Jesus, that the only way to see Lacey again was to believe in Christ.
He did the one thing Lacey hadn't want done at her celebration.
I remember thinking, as I discretely checked the time to see how long he'd been talking, that only at Lacey's funeral would this douche get away with this.
Lacey had two bible verses taped to her mirror wherever she slept—either at home, in a hotel, or at the hospital. These were the verses she lived by.
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. . .And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” - 1 Corinthians 13:4-13
“My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” - John 15:12-13
That day, by letting him speak as he did, we showed him who and what Lacey was.
She Was Love
About a year ago, my little cousin, Lacey, died. She had suffered from medical complications all her life. A few months beforehand, she was told she couldn't eat or drink orally as it would not go into her stomach but her lungs. While staying at a friends house, she got thirsty in the middle of the night. Half asleep and not fully aware of what she was doing, she drank a glass of water.
Paramedics were able to revive her from the accidental drowning but she was in a vegetative state. Surrounded by her family and friends, she was taken off life support and passed away on May 15th, 2009.
Now, I've been to a couple funerals in my short life—my grandmothers, my grandfathers, a classmate and family friend named Destiny. All them were somber, lifeless affairs. People mourned, people cried, people threw tantrums, and demanded of God to know why these people had been taken. I myself had done all of the above at my grandma Karleen's funeral when I was fourteen. But, like Lacey, her funeral wasn't a funeral in the traditional sense—it was a celebration of her life and the lives she'd touched in her short, eighteen years.
Lacey had known most of her life that time was short, that it went too quickly. She refused to be left behind and did things that I, healthy, hearty, older, am still terrified of doing. Her celebration was to be done to her specifications. No sermons were to be said, no speeches given. She just wanted people to connect, to remember her, and not to give up on their dreams. If there are tears, she said once, I want them to be tears of laughter, not pain. I'll be with God, my suffering will be done. Treasure that knowledge and do not linger on the fact I'm gone from Earth.
I remembered her words as I walked into the church. It was ginormous, big enough for at least five hundred people, and unsurprisingly, was already half full. Lacey's family was large, both her parents had several siblings and all of them had kids of their own. I had met several of the Gonzales side before but not all of them. At least, not that I could remember.
It wasn't just family who had come, however. Her classmates were there in force, wearing t-shirts with her smiling image on them. She would have a full page in her senior yearbook, added completely last minute by her classmates. Her mother would be given it at the graduation ceremony only a few weeks after the funeral. Her older brother, who'd been attending UC-Boulder, was surrounded by his fraternity brothers, all of whom had met and liked Lacey; she was the their little sister. Three whole rows were of doctors and nurses and specialists from the hospital, all touched by Lacey's struggles and her relentless optimism. Four families who had had children in the hospital at the same time as Lacey before, heard about her death and came. A young man who's now deceased little sister had been her roommate four years back, showed up.
As four o'clock approached, the church, silent but for the broken cries of Lacey's mother, grew still. This wasn't the celebration she'd wanted.
Then her father stood up and explained that, as per Lacey's wishes, they would tell stories. They would celebrate her life by remembering it. They would tell of Lacey and the joys, triumphs, and laughter she'd had.
I don't remember who went first. The stories seem to go on forever, each more lighthearted and joyful than the last. One fraternity brother told a story of how she'd go down and visit him when he worked as a valet at the hospital. A nurse told of how, one day, Lacey got permission to go out for lunch and came back with balloons and pizza for all the children on her floor. Another told of how she would go sit with an old man, dying of cancer, and read to him so his wife, children, and grandchildren could eat, sleep, and shower.
Then, as I was trying to get up the courage to speak to all these people I didn't know, a man stood up. He started by saying he'd never gotten the chance to know Lacey. He was there to help celebrate a life cut too short.
And then he preached.
For an hour and a half, he preached about the love of God, the sacrifice of Jesus, that the only way to see Lacey again was to believe in Christ.
He did the one thing Lacey hadn't want done at her celebration.
I remember thinking, as I discretely checked the time to see how long he'd been talking, that only at Lacey's funeral would this douche get away with this.
Lacey had two bible verses taped to her mirror wherever she slept—either at home, in a hotel, or at the hospital. These were the verses she lived by.
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. . .And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” - 1 Corinthians 13:4-13
“My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” - John 15:12-13
That day, by letting him speak as he did, we showed him who and what Lacey was.