I attended the funeral of a forty-two year old man. I met him first when he was about ten, on a camping trip. I saw him a few times since then, mostly in random encounters. He died a senseless meaningless death. Someone took his life from him, though it is possible he encouraged his death via his life style.
The eulogy, if eulogy is the correct word, started with pictures of a happy-go-lucky kid. It ended with a series of posed pictures that would not be shared too far away from immediate family. It was mentioned he remained happy-go-lucky throughout his life.
With the funeral in progress I gazed at what represented him now. He was inside a small pearl white box with two rosaries draped over it. On top was a black baseball cap. I do not remember the patch on it, but knew from his last pictures it was his current favorite hat. In the first rows sat immediate family members who now have him in only in their hearts. Others sat behind, relatives, friends, friends of the family.
What a senseless death it was. Preceded by what to me was a mostly invisible adult life. There was not much said in the eulogy that seemed unexpected, nor mention of what type of person he was. There was a brief mention of his having children, but little about any family life. Listening to the words of the eulogy, he seemed to have lived in a semi-vacuum. It added to my sense of loss, this man gone in the middle of his life, with so little said at the end about what he had done with his life.
I had a brief few moments speaking with one of his siblings later in the day. I wanted to express my anger and frustration over his meaningless death. I said how badly I felt for his family, now left behind, his brothers and sisters. The Sibling's response was one of the most profound comments I have ever heard.
"He lived the life he wanted to live". I immediately understood the volumes of unsaid life details and feelings which were wrapped into those few words that were not included in the eulogy. It was not important that I knew little about his adult life. It did not matter there was nothing said of what he had done with his life up to that moment.
He lived his life as wanted to. His end was apparently no surprise, possibly not even to him. It seems the happy, fun loving ten year old boy, grew up, took what life offered, and went on from there. In eight little words, I understood it did not matter what I did not know more about his life. We were not there to listen to or pass judgement on how he lived his life. We attended his funeral to validate him, nothing more, nothing less.
Life is mostly about luck. You are lucky at the right moments or you are not. Maybe he was lucky to have lived so long? Maybe he made his own version of lemonade with the lemons life gave him. I will never know. I don't need to know. I do know, no matter what he did or what people who knew him, thought about him, "he lived the life he wanted to live". I find it difficult to say there is a better way to live.
What peace there is now, to know that no matter how much I wish someone would change this or that in their life to better suit how I think they should live their life, they are indeed living the live they wish to live. I will keep this thought with me for the rest of my days. The most profound and liberating comment on life, I have heard yet.
"He lived the life he wanted to live."
