Gratitude Heals My Soul!
Thanking Those Who Attended Jan's Funeral
Estimated reading time: 3 minutes, 19 secondsAs I arrived at Beth Israel Cemetery and parked my car, I was deeply moved by the large number of people who had braved the inclement weather to pay their last respects to my beloved wife, Jan. Even though I was going through a period of grief, I felt immensely grateful to everyone who had come to honor and remember her. This outpouring of love and support reminded me that Jan had touched many hearts with her kindness and compassion. Knowing that love and empathy still exist is heartwarming despite our difficult times.
For three weeks, my sons, their partners, and I cared for my wife during her hospice stay at home. As I made my way from one group to the next, thanking those who had come to offer their support, I felt utterly drained and running on fumes, but I was like a Jack Rabbit on steroids as I tried to speak to everyone. I worried my gratitude would start to lose significance, so I tried to use fresh phrases to convey how much I valued their presence, particularly since they had only received two days’ notice. As I was leaving a group of young women to whom I had expressed my appreciation, I overheard one of them whisper, “That’s Jan’s husband.”
Despite hearing several people call my name, I initially ignored them, preoccupied with a sense of purpose, driving me to thank everyone who had shown up. The rain had slowed, and I was rushing around, knocking on car windows, determined to express my gratitude to everyone who had come to pay their respects. However, as the voice calling my name grew louder, I realized it was Rabbi Renee‘s voice, and I stopped in my tracks, turning around to see her standing by the hearse with my sons. At that moment, the significance of the occasion hit me like a ton of bricks, and I felt a mix of emotions wash over me – sadness, gratitude, and a sense of closure all at once.
It was then that she explained the funeral home’s request for me to take a final look at my wife’s open casket before the funeral home staff sealed it forever. Without hesitation, I leaned into the back of the hearse and kissed her forehead, making sure not to disturb her. As my Yarmulke fell into the coffin, I whispered, “I love you.” The weight of my grief felt unbearable, but I was grateful for the support of my loved ones during this difficult time.
On that emotional day, Rabbi Renee led an immaculate graveside service to bid farewell to my beloved wife. As the service concluded, the Rabbi suggested that only family members could toss dirt into the grave due to the muddy conditions. Disagreeing with her, I quietly signaled to my friends to help me with the final act of burying my wife. To my relief, my friend Danny, who had researched the correct way to do it the night before, stepped forward to assist me. Despite the COVID restrictions, I hugged Danny and others who helped me complete this final ritual. As I left the cemetery, I noticed my muddy shoes and pants were damp with brown streaks, reminding me of the bittersweet end of a life.
It’s been three years since I buried my beloved wife, but the memories of that day remain vivid. Looking back, I realize my actions were my only option. Expressing my gratitude to family, friends, neighbors, and colleagues reminded me of our interconnectedness and the importance of finding strength in the community. Though living alone, I’m still part of this interconnected world where we’re all cousins and must help each other heal. That day marked the beginning of my journey towards healing and recovery; I used my ears to listen, my arms to embrace, and tentatively took the first step towards walking into the future.
My Apolytus Moment
Thanking Those Who Attended Jan's Funeral
Estimated reading time: 3 minutes, 19 seconds
