Death....
For only a second posting on a blog that aims to talk about "My Neighbour," death seems like a morbid and ominous way to start the day. But apart from birth, it's the only thing that all of us share, even more so than taxes.
There's a good reason I have chosen this topic today. For one thing, it's Remembrance Day in Canada, something I always take very seriously, for I am old enough to remember and visualize the day Canadian soldiers marched through my Dutch village back in 1945 to liberate us from the German Nazis--our immediate neighbours next door. I will go to the cenotaph in downtown Vancouver today to join the crowds in paying homage to those who have fallen on my behalf during World War II as well as in Canadian peace keeping efforts subsequently. I remember and honour them.
There are more reasons for the choice of this topic today. Yesterday I came home from a memorial service for a sister-inlaw. The new widower, my brother, chose to call it a "celebration." As such events go, it was kind of a family re-union. It took place in the same facility in Mission, BC, where my sister Elly and husband Fred lie buried. So, quite a number of us, including Fred and Elly's children, now grand parents in their own right, used the opportunity to visit their grave.
We shared about whether anyone of us ever visits their grave. Even their children confessed they never do, for, it was explained, there's nothing of significance there. The important thing, their souls, are with God; the physical part has returned to dust and is no more. So, why visit? Do what? Most just shrugged their shoulders. Remembering and honouring their parents? Of course they do, but you don't have to come to an empty grave to do that. It's the same attitude an already passed-on brother-in-law expressed.
Though I do not criticize their attitude, for I know them well enough to know that they do remember and honour. But I do confess to be baffled, for to me remembering and honouring includes occasional visits to the graves or just the name plates of loved ones gone ahead of me, or perhaps some other kind of shrine dedicated to them, at least in so far as distance does not make that too difficult. I know: to each his own and mine may be no better than theirs.
In fact, over the weekend, together with my wife, Frances, two children and their "significant others," and four grandchildren, we also visited the graves of my parents in a nearby cemetery in Abbotsford, BC. Whenever we go to Grand Rapids, MI, where Fran is from and where I met her during our college days, we never fail to "greet" her parents and one sister, who are buried in Cascade, a Grand Rapids suburb. Depending on the time of the year and weather conditions, we may even clean up the site a bit and perhaps leave some flowers. That's our way of remembering and honouring them.
Halloween 2013 is still fresh in our memories. It is a time when the Mountain View Cemetery in Vancouver tries to counter "the macabre tones" of that "celebration" when "the dead are depicted as something grotesque and frightening." The cemetery turns it into an opportunity "to honour our ancestors and understand and appreciate where we came from and acknowledge the role the dead play in our lives every day." "It is a wonderful way for families to spend the evening and introduce the concept of mortality to the kids," explained a spokeswoman (Gerry Bellett, Vancouver Sun, October 26, 2013). I might insert some other elements into this programme, but I deeply appreciate the attempt on their part of, if I may put it this way, bringing the dead back to life for ourselves and our children.
Remember and honour. Reminds me a bit of Jesus' invitation to "remember and believe...." That goes one step further.
For only a second posting on a blog that aims to talk about "My Neighbour," death seems like a morbid and ominous way to start the day. But apart from birth, it's the only thing that all of us share, even more so than taxes.
There's a good reason I have chosen this topic today. For one thing, it's Remembrance Day in Canada, something I always take very seriously, for I am old enough to remember and visualize the day Canadian soldiers marched through my Dutch village back in 1945 to liberate us from the German Nazis--our immediate neighbours next door. I will go to the cenotaph in downtown Vancouver today to join the crowds in paying homage to those who have fallen on my behalf during World War II as well as in Canadian peace keeping efforts subsequently. I remember and honour them.
There are more reasons for the choice of this topic today. Yesterday I came home from a memorial service for a sister-inlaw. The new widower, my brother, chose to call it a "celebration." As such events go, it was kind of a family re-union. It took place in the same facility in Mission, BC, where my sister Elly and husband Fred lie buried. So, quite a number of us, including Fred and Elly's children, now grand parents in their own right, used the opportunity to visit their grave.
We shared about whether anyone of us ever visits their grave. Even their children confessed they never do, for, it was explained, there's nothing of significance there. The important thing, their souls, are with God; the physical part has returned to dust and is no more. So, why visit? Do what? Most just shrugged their shoulders. Remembering and honouring their parents? Of course they do, but you don't have to come to an empty grave to do that. It's the same attitude an already passed-on brother-in-law expressed.
Though I do not criticize their attitude, for I know them well enough to know that they do remember and honour. But I do confess to be baffled, for to me remembering and honouring includes occasional visits to the graves or just the name plates of loved ones gone ahead of me, or perhaps some other kind of shrine dedicated to them, at least in so far as distance does not make that too difficult. I know: to each his own and mine may be no better than theirs.
In fact, over the weekend, together with my wife, Frances, two children and their "significant others," and four grandchildren, we also visited the graves of my parents in a nearby cemetery in Abbotsford, BC. Whenever we go to Grand Rapids, MI, where Fran is from and where I met her during our college days, we never fail to "greet" her parents and one sister, who are buried in Cascade, a Grand Rapids suburb. Depending on the time of the year and weather conditions, we may even clean up the site a bit and perhaps leave some flowers. That's our way of remembering and honouring them.
Halloween 2013 is still fresh in our memories. It is a time when the Mountain View Cemetery in Vancouver tries to counter "the macabre tones" of that "celebration" when "the dead are depicted as something grotesque and frightening." The cemetery turns it into an opportunity "to honour our ancestors and understand and appreciate where we came from and acknowledge the role the dead play in our lives every day." "It is a wonderful way for families to spend the evening and introduce the concept of mortality to the kids," explained a spokeswoman (Gerry Bellett, Vancouver Sun, October 26, 2013). I might insert some other elements into this programme, but I deeply appreciate the attempt on their part of, if I may put it this way, bringing the dead back to life for ourselves and our children.
Remember and honour. Reminds me a bit of Jesus' invitation to "remember and believe...." That goes one step further.
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