Don’t Cry at My Funeral

My grandpa passed away on May 1, 2020. Thanks to the slowly lifting COVID-19 restrictions, we were able to hold the home-going service at my grandparent’s church.

The last funeral I attended was for my dad’s mom in 2013. My relationship with her was basically made up of visits that were few and far between.

Although I teared up at her memorial service, none were shed as it felt like she had merely gone back to her home and would be back to visit. Of course, that never happened.

I was significantly closer to my mom’s dad, but I didn’t even tear up at his funeral.

I think part of this was because (1) I cried it all out when I heard the news of his passing and (2) because of the journey I took through his photo library when making his memorial slideshow.

He had a full, well-spent life and passed with no regrets. All there is to mourn is his absence from us, but this was not my mindset the day we gathered to remember him.

I knew Grandpa was not there. Sure, his body lay before us, but His soul was in heaven. He was being welcomed through gates of pearls and walking down streets of pure gold to a celebration greater than we can imagine.

He did it. He completed the race, and now he gets to eternally abide in and worship our Savior free of the bondage of sin and allures of this world.

I wondered why we couldn’t have this mindset. Yes, Grandpa is gone and I miss him terribly, but I felt like we should have been celebrating the glory he had entered and that awaits us, too.

“Funerals, I have decided, are for the living, not the dead.”

— John Greene, “The Fault in Our Stars”

Such services are excellent opportunities to reorientate our focus back on where we’re going. That’s what I’d like at my funeral, at least.

You can miss me later, but come wearing yellow and gold and celebrate all that our Father has done, is doing, and has yet to do. To Him be the glory!

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