She Danced at Her Mother's Funeral

It can’t be June already! 

Susan, with her mother in January 2015

That was my first thought as I turned the calendar and looked at the notes I had scribbled, reminders for the upcoming month. 

Weed the strawberries, clean out the shed, get dogs groomed, and call Susan. 

Wait.  Call Susan?  Oh…..yes. 

Susan, my dear friend.  I had hastily written her name a few months back to remind myself to check in on her. 

Her mother died, quite suddenly and unexpectedly. 

At her mother’s visitation, I wasn’t surprised to find her stoic and intently focused on her father’s well-being.  It left little room for her own grief, and I feared she would find herself ill-prepared for the grief when it finally came.

So, here was my reminder.  Her reply to my email dodged my “how are you?”  Instead of answering the question, she detailed her dad’s mental and emotional state.  It was time for lunch and time to help a friend.

We met at our usual place, and I immediately put on my imaginary “soon-to-be” ordained minister robe to assess the severity of my friend’s denial, anger, or any combo of grieving.  She even quipped that she was afraid she’d cry at this lunch, because she thought I, with all my minister-in-training essence, would be her undoing.

But it was quickly obvious that the walls of grief that prevented her from actually feeling her mother’s passing were firmly in place, and I agreed with her that they were necessary – at least at this time. 

The oldest in her family, Susan is a doer, a problem solver.  Her focus was still her father, and her perspective assured me that, in time, her spirit would give her permission to focus on her own grief.

But for now, she pressed on to help the living.

She deflected the focus from herself by offering to share a story from her mother’s funeral.

She told me of her father’s wishes to have “Misty” played at the funeral. 

She told me of her father’s overwhelming grief as the song began to play.

She told me how she knew she needed to act quickly before grief consumed him.

She told me, how she asked her father if he wanted to dance.

I stopped breathing.  Immediately, I was visualizing this moment.  See it.

A husband, barely able to grasp the reality of losing his life-long partner.  His daughter

Susan's Parents

sitting beside him, controlling her own grief so she can care for her father.

And yet, somehow in the midst of all this, Susan honored a spiritual nudge, the one where afterwards we say “I don’t know where I got the idea.”

And she asked her father to dance.

And they danced.

In the middle of that crowded restaurant, as she told the story of her dancing with her father to her parents’ favorite song, in front of her mother’s casket, it is I who cried.

It is I who was disarmed, humbled and inspired by this amazing woman.  Had I really thought I had come here to offer her any spiritual and emotional restoration?

No, I was brought here to receive it.  To be reminded that we are all spiritual beings, capable of receiving guidance that tells us, in the middle of the saddest of moments…dance.

Dance to honor the beauty of what was but now lives on in memories and hearts. 

Dance to give grief the physical outlet it so deserves.

Dance because you “don’t know where you got the idea,” honoring the divine inspiration that plants those seeds of wisdom in us each and every minute of our lives.

Yes, Susan was indeed helping the living.

Helping the living.  Isn’t that what life is about? 

Of course, we honor the memory of our loved ones. 

But if our grief prevents us from being fully present to understand the needs of those who are left to pick up the pieces, then we are missing the beauty surrounding the ebbs and flows of life – and death.

I am so glad I scribbled my June reminder to “call Susan.” 

I hope I helped her in some small way as she continues to maneuver life without her mother and caring for her father.  But I will never forget the lesson that in each situation, I have something to learn. 

Today, that lesson was finding inspiration in the strength of a remarkable woman who was not afraid to honor what she knew needed to be done to rescue the living. 

May I have that strength and conviction to do the same.