Do we really miss the ones we love when they finally shuffle off this mortal coil? How long before their passing, did they stop being a part of our lives?
I have an uncle whom I love and see every month or so. He's eighty-four and facing a myriad of illnesses. It pains me to say it, but his time on earth, perhaps like mine, is coming to an end. He's my dad's baby brother and a veteran of World War II. He is the last of his generation in our family and when he is gone, another link to our ancestors will have passed with him. (Not to mention, he's a really great guy and it's a pleasure to be around him.)
There is, or at least, should be, a direct relationship between the amount of grief we feel over the loss of a loved one and the amount of time spent with that loved one. When we are broken hearted at the death of family members and acquaintances, is our life truly changed? I don't necessarily question if the grief we feel is real over our loss, but is the loss real?
I observed a daughter in a family, who lived within a half day's drive of her parents, fall to pieces at the loss of both. She hadn't actually seen her mother in perhaps a decade and, twenty years later, demonstrated the same anguish at the loss of her father. Notably, she had not seen her father face to face since the funeral of her mother. So, the only time she spent with them over a period of a couple of decades, was the time spent with them in a box.
I'm not saying her sorrow was fake. After all, these people raised and fed and, dare I say, loved her and her siblings. Still, the drama on display at the obsequies of her parents was augmented, in my opinion, by a desire to be seen and pitied as well as, in her particular case, narcotics.
I have kinsmen, that if I see them darken my door, I'll know the end is very, very near. I'm not saying that they don't care about me, it's just that they won't "miss me." I mean, really, how can you truly miss someone you see once a year...or less?
This is not a pity party. I am thinking of, among other people, my sainted mother who sat alone so many days without so much as a phone call from those who bawled their eyes out at her funeral. I'm not saying they didn't care. I'm only saying they didn't care enough to pick up the phone and call her for ten minutes; I'm saying they didn't care enough to get into their cars and go through the trouble to make the drive to her home for a visit. (They would show up in a team about once a year to "get their time card punched," though, so they could, I suppose, say they actually showed their faces.)
Yes, we are all very busy and have jobs, children and church and more to attend to, I know. Still, it would behoove us to remember that what goes around, comes around. One day, if the good Lord lets us live, we all will be old and sick. Will we expect our family to be more loyal to their elderly than we were to ours?
I know there are exceptions to every rule. A man who dedicates his life to the military or mission field is certainly serving a higher purpose. Their sacrifice and dedication to God and their country prevent them from giving time to their loved ones that they might have otherwise.
I'm terribly ashamed to admit it, but a large part of the reason I feel so strongly about this is because I'm haunted by the memory of those who I "almost' went to see or those I "intended" to visit, but I let time and circumstances get the better of me and, suddenly, they were gone. I, quite literally, "missed" them.
It's a true and faithful saying: "We should give our flowers to people while they're alive." When they are dead, they can't enjoy them.
Sure, we can't be with those we love constantly and we do have a lot of irons in the fire. Still, if you never invest your time in those you say you love, don't be such a big hypocrite and act as if your world has come to an end as their world, in actuality, does. You might fool a few fools like you, but those who were there with the deceased during their living years won't be fooled at all.
