A Wedding and A Funeral

Last Sunday, I went to the wedding of my precious cousin, Lauren.  The wedding and the bride were both absolutely beautiful.  When I walked into the place where the ceremony was held, the smell of lavender soothed my nostrils, while the beautiful purple flowers, that complemented the brown twigs laced with white lights, tickled my eyes, making them crinkle in giddy delight.

At the start of the wedding, the music for the entrance of the family members consisted of Disney's princess songs, and Lauren walked down the isle to "So This Is Love" from Cinderella.  I might be biased because she is my cousin, but it is my opinion that Lauren was so lovely that she put all of the Disney princesses to shame.  

I know that there was a lot of time and love that went into the planning and the execution of such a memorable event.  Everything from the ceremony to the reception foods were chosen to represent the couple's relationship and their individual personalities. Not only did they have two cakes (one traditional and one groom's cake that represented her new husband very accurately), but they also served Dairy Queen Blizzards, since their first date was at Dairy Queen. It is nice to walk away from a wedding and feel that the event helped me get to know the couple, and their story, better.

This evening, four days after my cousin's wedding, Christopher and I helped a family by directing our first funeral service together.  Like many new adventures, I was nervous that I wouldn't know what to do, or that I would be in the way too much.  The nervous bundle of ice was broken when I saw that some people were checking out the casket/urn room before the service, and I asked if they had any questions. (I must not have thought about what I was saying, as I don't know what I would have said if they actually had any real questions.)  One of the men said, "Well, I hope not. I don't plan on needing one of these any time soon."  His humourous aura helped me relax.  I told him that I hoped he didn't either, and then pointed to one of the caskets and told him that it was the casket I had chosen when I was a little girl.  Knowing that he had a sense of humor, I continued the conversation by telling him that it was the one that I used to play hide-and-seek in when I was little.  Needless to say, the rest of the conversation was very interesting, and by the end of it, he chose his favorite casket.

I didn't know how much I would actually enjoy being there for a family during the service for their loved one. Sometimes, I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded my head and gave, what I hoped was, a reassuring smile. With all of the new things I have done over the past two weeks, being directly involved with helping the families is my favorite.

Once the service started, I had time to notice how beautiful the flowers were and how the family really seemed to enjoy each other's company.  Ironically, it made me think of the fact that there are similarities between weddings and funerals, so I started a list of things they have in common.

Here is my list (feel free to make additions in the comments section):
There are beautiful flower arrangements.

The type of service depends on the culture, religion, or special unique preferences of who the ceremony is for.

The family gets together: sometimes, these are the only two events where families see each other.

Only certain members are involved in planning the event.

Sometimes, it is more about the guests who attend than about who is being celebrated.

People are dealing with high emotions (crying happens in both).


*For the record, I am not comparing my cousin's wedding to a funeral.  I am comparing funerals, in general, to weddings, in general. 

Never Say Never?

One would think that I would have learned to omit the word never from my vocabulary after learning multiple times that, when I say I will never do something, I find myself veering towards and eventually walking on the famously familiar I-Said-I'd-Never-Do-This Path.

It all started when I swore that, after I graduated high school, I would never set foot on a school campus again.  I didn't like school and couldn't wait to get out.  As the word never left my lips, my feet started walking towards the path of becoming a teacher, where I would spend the weekdays of my life on a school campus.

While walking towards the path to become a teacher, I had to take the CSET to prove proficiency in grammar, literature, and writing.  The first time I took the test, I couldn't believe some of the questions that I had to answer.  As I marked an unknown answer to a question that asked me to choose the grouping of poets that were influential during the Renaissance, I whispered, "Why do I need to know this? I will never teach AP English!"  Four years later, I remembered what I said and shook my head as I typed the syllabus for my AP English course.

I grew up spending much time, and then eventually living in, a funeral home. Many, many times, I had nightmares about the things that I heard about and/or saw while I was there, so I didn't think that I could handle being in that environment on a consistent basis.  My body would tense up and I would get an eerie tingly feeling when I would walk by the embalming room (even when the door was closed). So, after we made the decision to move to San Diego, so that Christopher could start a new career as a Funeral Director at my dad's funeral home, I should have known not to say that I would never be able to work there.  We all know how that turned out. Before I took a step forward onto the path to working at a funeral home, I agreed to work with my dad with the promise that I could just stay at my desk and would never need go in the back.  Within the first week, I was in the back room helping with someone who was not more than two months older that I am.

There are very few things that make me feel more alive than the simple act of recognizing and reflecting on the fact that I am still alive. Through all the busy things I do, it isn't often that I am able to actually remember that those who are living are walking and talking miracles. Having the ability to breathe, move, speak, and do-sometimes without even really noticing what I am doing- is incredible to me. Being able to feel emotions, think profound or silly thoughts, and create a combination of words that bring people into understanding what is in my brain baffles me.  With the many times that I have been around a funeral home, I have not had as much of a reality check about the fragility of life, as I have over the past week.  Seeing the beautiful, but lifeless, face of someone validated that for me.  For many people, I'm sure this would be a scary thought; I even thought it would be more frightening to allow myself to think that deeply about my own death. However, looking at myself in the mirror and thinking about the fact that I will be in the same circumstance, someday, was incredibly liberating.  

I can say that, regarding the things I never thought I'd do, I am glad that I was wrong. These things shaped me to be who I am today, and I wouldn't want anything- the good, the bad, the frightening, or the liberating- to have been any different.

Saying Goodbye

From past experience, I have learned that treating those we love as if it is the last time we see them makes relationships stronger and more meaningful. It helps me choose my battles more wisely. It helps me pay attention to what I love about the person (or animal).  For the past few evenings, I knew that it was almost time to say goodbye to my guinea pig of 5 1/2 years. Last night, Christopher and I held her in our arms for the last time, as she drifted off into a long sleep.

As sad as it was to witness her death, it was so comforting to know that we were with her, holding her.  It was the first time that I was present for the death of one of my pets, so I was nervous about how I would react. Surprisingly, I was able to calmly hold her, tell her I love her, and pet her little back as she took her last few breaths.

Being that guinea pigs live 3-5 years on average, Marie was quite an old lady.  Even so, as I held her motionless little body in my arms, I knew I will always think of her as my little girl. 

When I went searching for a guinea pig 5 1/2 years ago, it was with the intention to have something to nurture. At the time, I didn't know about all the things that people could do to spoil guinea pigs. But, with the help of ideas from other guinea-pig fanatics, Marie had quite the little "crib."  If there was a guinea-pig channel that had a show called "Guinea Cribs" or "Lifestyles of the Pampered Guinea Pig", she would have been on the show.  On top of spoiling her with a large space to run around all day, I loved cutting her oranges and apples in the morning and giving her little carrots and lettuce at night.  I loved when she would squeak-scream when she would get a bath or expect breakfast.  I loved watching her run around the floor and/or chew on her little logs.  I loved nurturing her. The irony is that, looking back on all the joy she brought to my life, I realized that she nurtured me more than I nurtured her.

She cuddled with me on the nights when Christopher and I were apart, before he and I were married. She taught me to be patient in receiving trust. She played peek-a-boo and made me laugh when I was having an angry day. She absorbed my stress as I held her. 

Although I will miss her, I am more thankful than anything to have had her in my life.

A Bird's "I" View

After my first day working at the mortuary, I took quite the inventory of what motivates me in a work environment.  What qualities do I have that make me a valuable worker? What makes me feel like I am contributing to my work environment? How do I know if I am doing a good job? How do I know if I am the right fit for a job, or if it is the right fit for me?

The view from where I am now is a bit blurry. At least with teaching, I know what my strengths and areas of improvement are. However, what I did today is completely new topography.

My day was quiet, which is probably expected in this line of work. Since I am used to the buzzing of conversation from about 36 mouths who are trying to fill each other in on all the latest in sports, video games, or who's-dating-who (and the occasional chat about cheesecake), it is almost eerie to have minutes and hours at a time when I only hear one or two people's voice.   As much as I would get frustrated with the constant chatting and loud noises that only middle-school students make, I did enjoy the energy that my students brought into my classroom.  Because of this, answering the phone was such a treat for me today.  I loved chatting with people, even if it was with a doctor that tried to spell out a twenty-three-letter term to name the cause of death. It only took him three times of spelling it out in order for me to write it down correctly. With all the moments of potential frustration, I was still happy to be on the phone. 

In between some of the training and answering the phones, I was able to help set up a viewing for a family. After many years of living in a funeral home, I did not become involved with the deceased as much as I did briefly yesterday and even more today.  Sparing some details, I will say that I surprised myself.  Walking down the hallway before entering the back room, knowing what I was about to see, sent somewhat paralyzing tingles up and down my arms and back.  I was walking, but the rest of me was simply being carried down the hallway by the bottom half of my body. Then, I turned the corner, walked through the door, and I was there in front of something I had never seen before.  Surprisingly, I was fine.  More than that, I wanted to help take care of the deceased with her cuts, brusies, and all. I wasn't scared, which was very, very different for me.

Although I had many little successes of the day, there is still a huge part of me that doesn't know if this is the right fit for me. One of the main reasons for this is that I already miss teaching, and it hasn't even been a week since school's been out.  Time will tell.  I want to be as honest with myself as possible. I want a clearer view of what my map looks like before I land. From where I am and what I see, it is difficult to know.

Mustard Seeds of Loving Faith that Moved Mountains

This morning, I was able to reunite with the church that brought me back to my faith in God and what He and His Son have done for me. One of the biggest pros for this move was to be back at the church where I reunited with the One who saved me.

Ten years ago, I moved to San Diego to attend graduate school.  The whole idea to move to San Diego came about the day I quit a pyramid-scheme purfume-selling job and was free for the afternoon. My dad called and asked if I wanted to have lunch with my step-mom, my uncle (whose birthday we would be celebrating), my aunt, and him.  Since I didn't need to work that afternoon, I agreed to meet them at the Cheesecake Factory.

During the course of the meal, I voiced concerns about having to travel about 30 miles to attend each of my courses, since there were only three campuses in the area where I was currently living, and each different campus for the school only offered some of the courses that I needed.  After I mentioned that it would be easier if I lived in San Diego, since there were fourteen campuses in San Diego that were relatively close to one another, my aunt and uncle (who had just moved to San Diego a year before) said that I should move in with them.  

A week later, I was a resident of San Diego. Since I didn't have a job, my aunt and uncle did not ask for rent, but instead asked that I would help with their activities at the church.  Little did I know that, with the time I spent helping the church, I received more than what I gave.

Within the first few weeks of getting to know people at the church, my uncle invited me to go to a Tuesday-evening Bible study at the beach.  The group sat by a bonfire and each individual had the opportunity to share ideas about his/her developing faith. Those evenings were one of the highlights of my week. I got to know people, not only on a personal level, but on a much deeper level due to the topics that we discussed. The topics weren't your typical polite, dinner conversations, where everyone avoided discussing things that were potentially offensive.  On occassion, we offended each other, but every new week and new bonfire brought with it a clean slate. 

Our group's ability to forgive and forget could be because we didn't only spend Tuesday evenings together.  We also spent Friday evenings, Saturdays (usually the whole day, since it was the Sabbath), and sometimes Sundays at Disneyland together. We became a family- the way that people in church should be (in my humble opinion, of course).  Just like families, we had our ups and downs, and just like a family should, they lovingly revealed to me that there were things in my life that needed to change.  If they allowed me to continue with some of my behaviors, telling me that what I was doing to my mind, my body, and my psyche was ok, they really wouldn't have shown love for me. I don't even want to imagine what I might have experienced that would have damaged me even more than I already was, had I not had the influence of that church family.

With many unnecessary details left unsaid in this post, I will just say that, thankfully, I listened to them. If they were to have approached me with judgement or disdain, I most likely would  have retracted and continued my behaviors. However, they helped me see how incredibly valued I was, not just to them, but also to God. They showed me a love that overpowered the desire to be something I wasn't for the sake of getting attention from those who really didn't care about me.  They moved the towering mountains of regret, greed, envy, and shame that shadowed me during that time of my life. Whether they knew it or not, they revealed God's love for me through their actions and their words.

Now, ten years later, I am among those loving people again.  This time, I have a deeper appreciation for who they are and what they did for me.  It is interesting that certain people in my life have influenced me with trying to plant various types of seeds in my heart. Some were good for me, some were not. However, being back at this church has reminded me of what was planted in my heart ten years ago.

My church family spread seeds of encouragement, redirection, and love. Some of the seeds became beautiful plants to admire, and other seeds nourished the hunger of this sparrow.  I look forward to  having opportunities to nurture others through spreading the same seeds of encouragement, redirection, and love.

The First Flight

This morning at 2:30AM, I got out of bed, grabbed the Ziploc bag containing two of Ma Seguin's homemade biscotti, got in my car, and started to drive away from the area that had been my home for the past five years.  

The drive was quick, thanks to the company of my sister.  We used to spend a lot of time together in a car, since, 15 years ago, we drove 45 miles to school and back everyday.  This morning, she and I chatted, sang some of our favorite songs, and silly-danced as best as two women can dance while sitting in a car for eight hours.

Once I got to my destination-yes, the mortuary- and reunited with a man I have really, really missed for the past two-and-a-half weeks, I started to relax. Then, the sleepiness took over.

I woke up in a drool-soaked pillow about an hour after I laid down in my bed. Although I felt more rested than before, I was still in a dream-like state. It is difficult for me to grasp the idea that San Diego is once again my home.

Speaking of homes, I continued on with the day by going house-hunting. As much as I enjoy the hunt, it is as difficult as it looks on House-Hunters.  When I watch the show, I always get upset at people who I consider to be too picky. "C'mon! Be happy you can even afford a house," I say out loud to the people on the television.  Now, I have become that annoyingly picky person, and I hate that.

Once I ruled out the idea of buying the houses I looked at today, I went back to the mortuary.  My desk area is under construction, but should be ready for my first day of work on Monday.  There is so much to learn, and I am still not very confident that I will be able to work in an environment similar to the one that used to give me nightmares as a child.  However, there is a sense of peace that I am where I need to be for this time in my life.

Today is the first of many flights this sparrow will take. Today is the first day on my journey to find out how to better prepare for the ultimate bowl of applesauce.  

I invite you to journey with me, as I chart new territory in my career, my geography, my relationships, and my faith.