Memories & Legacies (What's Left Behind, Part II)

Saturday was a living paradox. The funeral was tragically beautiful. The funeral home was completely filled, a testament to Tyler's impact on others' lives and how much he will be missed. Seeing all those people was both uplifting and spirit-shattering, because though we were gathered in love, everyone wore their pain on their faces. It hurt to see the tears welling up people's eyes, to hear the sobs of the teenage boy behind me, to sense the overwhelming loss everyone felt. As the service progressed, I felt myself getting increasingly angry. It's not fair, I thought. So many young people should never be forced to gather to mourn. (In a nasty twist of fate, I found out yesterday that a 16-year-old died in my hometown on Saturday. Horrible.) That feeling remains, but I eventually also felt glad they were there. Seeing a community function properly, even in the face of death, is a beautiful thing. Seeing that community gather to both mourn the loss of and celebrate the life of someone they loved was an experience I'll never forget. The funeral was a time to cry together, share what Tyler had meant to each of their lives, remember his passions and his favorite things. After the funeral, there was a dinner at a local church, and it was a celebration. I've never seen people laughing like they were right after a funeral. Family and friends shared stories about him -- stories of Tyler taking risks, being bold, sharing himself, doing crazy, absurd things. It was amazing; incredibly brave of those who shared, too. But that's what I appreciated most about Saturday. Those who loved Tyler could freely talk about him and celebrate the life he lived, because they know he's now with the God he loved so much. There was no question about that in anyone's mind, and I think that lifted a huge weight that is present at so many funerals. That's what struck me most about Tyler's funeral -- the peace in the midst of the grief. I was also moved by how many people remembered Tyler as a servant, someone always willing to help or protect or listen to others. That's so rare. I'm glad that's how he'll be remembered. I'm going to take him, and the other true Christian servants I know, as my inspiration to change. I've been stuck inside myself, simmering in selfishness, for too long. I don't want to neglect myself completely, but I want to make others my priority. I want to know others' stories, to know who they are, where they came from, their dreams and desires. I admit, my motivation for all of this is partially selfish. I think I'll be happier if I change. But it's also a tribute to Tyler's memory, and to the lives of those who continue to live as servants. So the next time I see you, don't just ask how I am; ask what I've done for someone else, or just tell me a story about your life. I want to know.