It is a strange feeling to revisit your childhood. It is such an obvious part of who you are, yet you’re not that person any longer. Even stranger, is that all the memories and feelings come flooding back and boom - you feel ten years old again. All of the aforementioned transpired last week at the funeral services for my beloved Aunt Doris. It was, to say the least, an evocative experience.
I don’t remember a week going by that we weren’t at her house. My parents were best friends with Doris, and her husband, Fred, so technically they weren’t really an aunt and uncle, but it surely felt like they were. They had two sons, Mike and Steven, whom we called our cousins. They lived on this picturesque farm, complete with rolling hills and big oak trees, which provided the backdrop for our many adventures. We were children of the 60’s. We didn’t just play, we had productions where we used our imaginations and created our own sense of childlike wonder. We spent the majority of our time outside where we roamed safely around town, and our bikes were our identity. Life, as we knew it, was carefree and simple. The five of us could drink from the cool, clear spring near the workshop that doubled as our clubhouse, where we would devise our plans before a game of tag or a trip down the spooky hollow (holler to us) nearby. Julie and Mike were the oldest and the leaders while Jenny, Steven and I were their royal subjects! They were the cool ones, and we wanted to do whatever they did so we could feel cool, too! I guess some things never change! But whatever we did, we had fun. We spent hours daydreaming on the tire and rope swings that hung from one of those huge trees while our dads pushed us . . . we felt we could touch the sky. If only we could touch the sky now.
There we were, the five of us again. This time we were huddled under a canopy at the graveside listening to “Beulah Land” as tears fell with each note. I could imagine my aunt singing gospel music, along with her sisters, in her house where there was always laughter and joy. She was quite a character - full of life, love, and loyalty. One night I remember all of us gathered in the TV room watching The Wizard of Oz, but I ran out during the flying monkey scene. Aunt Doris found me hiding in her dining room, embarrassed and afraid. I’ll never forget her loving words and reassurance while reminding me that it would get pretty again - and it did. That was a life lesson but then again, she was a life lesson. She was, and will always be, a reminder to love deeply, laugh often, embrace family and friends, and make God the answer knowing that even when it’s looking scary - life will get pretty again.
I stared at her casket - was this real? I looked over at Mike and Steven overcome with grief and thought about what wonderful sons they were to her. They were completely devoted to her and then, to her care during her illness. At the gathering after the service, we stood watching a video filled with photos that ended with the last snapshot of my aunt and uncle together. They were floating on a boat and the photo spoke volumes. Steven began to cry and said, “That’s the last one.” I turned and told him how much I admired him for caring for his mom the way he did to which he replied, “It was my pleasure.” That statement was an arrow straight to the heart and Julie, Jenny, and I stood there unable to move. Later, we discussed that such a statement made us want to be better moms and better people. It made me ask, “Do we spend so much time on insignificant expectations that we miss being a pleasure to be around? Do we treat those we love as common?” My aunt didn’t, and her sons didn’t - they won the prize - the 1 Corinthians 13:13 prize - “. . . but the greatest of these is love.” They had the God-kind of love and everything else was an outgrowth from it. Mike and Steven and all of us can hold onto that legacy of God’s love transformed into a life that exemplified the verse that says, “Love never fails, never fades out or becomes obsolete or comes to an end.” She lives on because her love does, and it is fadeless just as our memories of her are.
Again, there we were - the five of us. We weren’t kids anymore but it felt like we were. We were staring at those photos, and I wondered what all of us were thinking. Were we wishing we were back at the farm catching fireflies and rolling down the hills giggling or watching one of three TV channels together? Or were we just thinking how blessed we were to have had those memories and such a person like my Aunt Doris in our lives? I really can’t answer such a question but I do know that all of us can say to her with all our love, “Having you was not just our pleasure . . . it was our honor.”
Until we meet again at the Resurrection - I love you, Aunt Doris.
