People paying attention may have wondered what happened to me, the woman who usually writes a blog post a day, each and every day. I haven't posted since last Wednesday. Shortly after that posting, we got a phone call from my spouse's stepmom, who was crying. I thought it would be bad news about my spouse's dad, but no, it was bad news about my spouse's youngest brother who had just learned that he could stay in his seminary apartment, as he did some post-MDiv work. My spouse's stepmom and dad had driven through the night after days of not hearing from their son. One or two days might be normal, but more than that meant that something horrible had happened.
We are only 2 hours away from Columbia, SC, so we threw some clothes and toiletries in the car and drove down, not knowing what had happened. There was a brief moment where I hoped it would all be a terrible mistake, and that by the time we got there, we'd all go out to lunch and have a laugh about how we had all panicked.
Sadly, by the time we left our house, it was clear that the worst had happened; the coroner had arrived. But we didn't know details. By the time we arrived, we knew that it wasn't our worst fears: a horrible crime. Eventually we would find out that Stephen had a blocked left ventricle; he died suddenly, the way that men in their 40's and 50's so often die suddenly, by way of a massive heart attack that has no symptoms in advance.
The seminary took good care of the family. By the time we arrived, several pastors had been there, including the bishop of the South Carolina synod and the pastor who had supervised Stephen's internship at his church, St. Andrew's in Columbia. The seminary made reservations at a nearby hotel for us, and after eating a bit of the sandwiches that the seminary had ordered, we headed over to the hotel. On Wednesday, we got settled, and they tried to sleep, while I logged on and attended my online class in the evening.
Thursday was a hard day, full of difficult meetings: the funeral home, the pastor planning the memorial service, the first day we were allowed in the apartment. But it also wasn't as gruesome as I feared. I haven't had to deal with much death so far in my life, but I've been impressed with how kind and professional the people who deal with death are. I was most grateful for the clean up that had happened before we were allowed in the apartment.
We still had considerable cleaning, sorting, and packing to do at the apartment. Even a man living alone has a lot left behind. A seminarian has papers and books to sort through. Happily, the security guard found a great home for Stephen's large, energetic dog, the kind of dog that needs a yard and a dog friend with boundless energy; now she has those things, along with a loving new owner.
On Saturday, we had the funeral service, which celebrated a life well lived, even as it was cut short. In some ways, it was unbearably sad, thinking of all that he had left to do; in fact, he had called all of us a night or two before he died to tell us all about the cool new job he had just gotten and was supposed to start the following week.
After the service, we went to the parlor, where there was a lovely reception that the church provided. I wrote this Facebook post later: "The funeral service for Carl's younger brother was beautiful and even more profound was hearing how many lives he touched. It's what Church can do well, when Church does things well."
As I stood listening to people tell us how much Stephen had meant to them, I thought about that line from the funeral reception scene in The Big Chill: "You'd never get this many people at my funeral." Of course, Stephen would also likely be surprised to see the crowd at his funeral.
I thought of how many people assume that they aren't very important. We live in a culture that likes to reinforce that feeling so that we'll buy whatever is being advertised or vote for whichever candidate needs our vote or pay money for more education/training/etc. But a funeral is a good reminder that we touch more lives more deeply than we'll ever realize when we're alive. It's also a good reminder that although we might feel that our efforts to make the world better are ineffectual, every bit counts and all the bits add up to quite a lot.
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