On the deaths of two nieces

Beatrice (l) and Erin (r) each died in the Spring of 2018

I sat at the dining table with my dad and my wife selecting readings from the Bible as well as hymns and other music for my niece Erin's funeral. She died in a head-on collision on her way to go fishing in the coastal bend, one of her very favorite things to do. She was 22 and seemed to have been really finding herself. She had just rescued two baby opossums, and we worked with her roommate to get them to a wildlife rehab center. The opossums were no surprise, that was Erin.

At the dining table, we had our Episcopal prayer book, hymnal, and the Bible. My dad and I took turns with his reading glasses. In the middle of it all was the bulletin from my niece Beatrice's funeral two months before. Beatrice was 16 and struggled with depression until it took her life. As we wept and read, my dad commented, "Who would have thought we would use Beatrice's funeral to plan another one."

Beatrice & Eli in NC

Beatrice took her own life; Laura and I were there with her mom and dad, and another sister when she finally breathed her last breath in the hospital. Beatrice loved being on the water too. For her, it was the boundary waters--I'm not sure if she fished. She and Erin spent some time hiking parts of the Appalachian trail last summer. They loved being out in nature.

We all know, on some level that the souls of each of those girls is fine, and there is a strange comfort in knowing they are together...certainly not in the way we would prefer. We would prefer they be getting excited about this summer's adventures in the Smokey Mountains, and what canoeing and bay fishing trips were coming up. Our family is heartbroken; I can't imagine what it's like for Eli, my 7 year old, to know that healthy, vibrant people die. He has a perspective on life that only came to me through my work as a priest. He just melted onto the couch when I told him Erin died. The second of his cousins in just over two months.

When I meet with families before funerals, I talk about the purpose of a funeral: It's about remembering the person's life, commending them to God, and identifying those qualities we admired in that person so that we can honor them and God by living those qualities out in our own lives. Funerals don't fix things; they often dredge up more pain in the moment. They do plant seeds that will grow. Commending our loved ones to God is a life-long task. I don't think I'll ever not wish Beatrice and Erin were still with us, here, on our terms. They are with God, and when I practice remembering that, I find some glimmer of peace. That they are together with God, again, brings a strange comfort.

I remember the light that was in them. I know each of them struggled. They lived full, rich lives, if not as long as we wanted them to live. I remember their laughter. I didn't know the challenges they faced as their parents did, but I know there was struggle. I remember them setting of on adventure, and now they are off on the ultimate adventure.

Erin joined us for Easter

The third thing that funerals bring are a point of reflection: looking at the life lived, and examining our own lives. How can we honor the dead? Remember them in the way we live. My father taught me a long time ago that when we sing the Sanctus, that "Holy, holy, holy Lord" song during the prayer before communion, to remember the voices of the dead are singing along surrounding the throne of God. For him, it's long been his parents. For me, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and now nieces gather around to sing together, and we sing with them. We commune with them as we share the communion of Christ. It's a practice of communion that flows out into the rest of life. That communion sets a pattern, or plants a seed to further grow in our larger lives. We go out to commune with our dead in other ways: While fishing, creating art and music, hiking a trail, sitting with family or friends around a dining table.

In all of that and in ways I do not yet understand, the funeral is ultimately about Resurrection. It is for us to remember even as we still sit in the experience of Good Friday, that Christ was Resurrected from the dead, and proclaimed to us that we too shall be resurrected. The funeral liturgy, we were reminded by the priests at both of their funerals, is an Easter liturgy. We may not be there yet, but it is a reminder that we are on a journey toward Easter and Resurrection.

Erin was her own person, and lived her own beautiful life, and died a tragic death. Mourning her loss, and celebrating her life will forever be mingled with Beatrice's life and death, because of the proximity. When I hike the Appalachian trail this summer, they will be with me. Beatrice was there at the dining table helping us plan Erin's funeral. When we remember them, they are present. I hope I can honor their lives by the way I live my own life. They are a part of the great Cloud of Witnesses now; gone from us in a way, and right here in the midst of us in another way.