My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Rethinking Solemnity
Today we had a funeral and at the cemetery I was struck by the attitude of the grave diggers, how they ignored the solemnity we had brought to the occasion. Of course, they had no personal investment. Their feelings were not tied to the event. Though respectful, they could, it seemed, include death as part of a joke. Maybe they were right. Maybe death is not so serious. Maybe we, with solemn prayer and faces, were the ones who had not understood.
Labels:
dying,
perspective,
thinking
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