This past weekend was healing. It wasn't relaxing. It wasn't stressful. I didn't do that much, but I was always doing something. I left home tired and arrived back exhausted, but somehow my soul returned with a kind of satisfaction I haven't felt in a while.
This past weekend I flew to Chicago. I left early Friday and came back late Sunday, giving me the equivalent of two full days to spend with family. That's the price you pay by living halfway across the country from people.
The month before was hectic. It was nonstop. There was family travel, then work travel, then travel to a friend's wedding. Then there was a holiday weekend, which encouraged my wife and me to do some more travel. When we finally made it home, we only had a week before it was time to hit the road again. This last weekend, my wife and I traveled to be with family for a funeral. We were not looking forward to the trip.
Visiting family isn't always easy. It's often stressful, or complicated. When it's only for a short time over such a distance, it can also be loaded with guilt. Guilt that you live so far away. Guilt that you don't visit as often as you could. Guilt for them taking the time to get you to and from the airport and dealing with your jet lag. Guilt for visiting and taking up a bedroom, and interfering in their lives.
I haven't been to that many funerals in my life. Or maybe I have. It's not clear what a normal number would be at my age. But every single funeral I have been to has been, in its own way, a celebration. The people we keep around us are beautiful people. That can sometimes be hard to remember while they're around, and particularly at the end of their lives. We think more of the daily annoyances than those joyful moments. Their inability to put away the dishes is always top of mind because it happens every day. But the time they tried to learn a new language to make an impression on your family, or how they cooked and cared for you when you were sick; these are harder to remember when loading the dishwasher.
This funeral itself was in Polish in a Catholic church. I don't speak Polish, nor do my parents, nor do many of the other attendees. I understand a little bit, enough to hear the priest emphasize the inevitability of death. Most of us were also not Catholic. But rituals are universal in some way. I may not understand the covering the urn with a cloth or sprinkling holy water on the person's effects with a brush, but I understand the thought of putting the dead to rest and blessing their life. One last act of grace from the living to honor the grace of the life that was.
This weekend and this funeral were reminders of how wonderful life can be, and how grateful I am for the people around me. Despite the annoyances, these are the people I've chosen to associate with. We lift each other up and make each other better. We soothe life's wounds for each other. There are still challenges in life, but they're much easier to overcome when you're surrounded by people you love, and who love you in return.
I hope you've found your people.