Dancing on My Grave

We had very heavy rains this weekend. Today, the kids and I marveled at how far the rivers in our area have over-spilled their banks. Brianna and Alexander wanted to scout a section of new trail running behind a cemetery near our house. We drove into the cemetery and parked near an embankment overlooking the trail. The kids jumped out of the van and ran to get a better look. They pointed and laughed and romped along the ridge for a while before skipping and running back to me to report their findings.

I loved seeing their joy in that place, oblivious to the remains below their feet and the granite and marble reminders of generations past. I was reminded of the day of my Grandfather's funeral some years ago. At the graveside, we adults were somber. But his little great-grandchildren, far too young to appreciate their loss, played gleefully among the leaves on that glorious October afternoon. The pastor saw them and smiled. "I love seeing young children at a funeral" he said. "They remind us that life carries on."

As the memory faded, my thoughts turned, unbidden, to my own mortality. Some day, I thought, children may romp happily on the spot where my remains are buried or scattered. Children of children of children yet unborn. I was infused with a feeling of peace and joy. It was the most beautiful thought about death (particularly my own) that I have ever had. I pray that I may be so blessed. And if I am, I hope that somehow my soul will be aware of them, of their energy, of their joy, of their dancing into the future.