Jusqu'au But

Yesterday

I didn't want to go to the funeral.
Eliud is like my cousin and Annie is my god-sister. Their father was one of my dad's best friends. And their mother, well my mother cradled her on her death bed. Back in the day, my parents tell me, that when we went grocery shopping we bought food for them and when they went grocery shopping they bought food for us.
I didn't want to go to the funeral.
He was a tall man, and accomplished man. You just knew it. His smile made you smile. And just like John the Baptist, God said your work is done. I don't need to rescue you. And the dreaded C-word invaded his body, held his cells captive, claimed his life, and God took his breath, the same way a couple years ago He took his wife's.
I didn't want to go to the funeral.
I walked onto the grass and there I saw him. Eliud. As stoic as he could be. He was trying very hard. And the tears came. I couldn't look in Annie's face. I heard she laid in the hospital bed along side her father all the way through. I saw myself laying next to my dad as I did after his surgery. Unable to speak the fear in my heart, just laying there.
I didn't want to go to the funeral.
My mother stood next to me and in her nature refused to cry. I looked around for my father and he was greeting people he knew many years ago. And I looked across, and I saw them: the young people, some my age, some older, some younger. We were all doing the same thing: Imagining how Eliud and Annie were gonna make it through after such an extraordinary loss. We pictured our parents, our uncles, and aunts, in that box. I thought for a second and said to myself that they have lost everything, but then I saw Eliud holding Annie and I understand that God never gives us more than we can bear.
I didn't want to go to the funeral.
They lower the casket.
I didn't want to go to the funeral.
Eliud sobs.
I didn't want to go to the funeral.
I look for my father. I can't find him. Is he in the casket? I panic. It wasn't logical. Of course he was here, walking around somewhere, holding someone, maybe. Where the hell are you dad? Tears. Torrents. A lady wails behind me. Thanking God for ending the pain, his pain. I think of how my father fought tears against the pain that Friday night he didn't know he would see. I remember leaving his bed side to cry in the bathroom. I remember the day I looked up and told God I wouldn't allow Him to take my father. And my heavenly Father saw my foolish anger and irresponsible demand and answered my request. And I stood there watching the father of two young people be buried and I asked God why he didn't answer their request - why did he take both parents? I felt like my father's life was only possible because their father's was taken. And now I understand why my father teared up at every visit. And now I understood why my dad saw him so often. He saw in him, this dying man, all his fears. What this cancer could do to him, the people he would leave behind.
I didn't want to go to the funeral.
"kem fenk krase" (My heart just broke) my mother said when she saw the casket at the cemetery. "We grew up together. We shared our lives and our families." And I immediately thought of all of you, especially those of you who are reading this blog. I won't tell you the thoughts my mind explored. I can't. I pray against them.
I didn't want to go to the funeral.
I hug Eliud and I feel so guilty. I could have called. I could have visited him. I could have tried to make him laugh. I could have acted like a god-sister. Cooked a meal, fixed a bed. Something. But I couldn't be there, in the midst of the loss, with the fear of one still lingering. I pledge to forgive myself, though, and do something now, when they still need me.
I didn't want to go to the funeral
Because I knew I would imagine my father's. I walk away when it is over and see the man I searched for. He asks me if I'm okay and the sobs I fought against won. We knew what we were both thinking. As much as I couldn't bear to lose him, he couldn't think to lose me. We thought about that day in the hospital when I saw both fear and weakness in my father's eyes for the first time. This funeral terrified both of us. And just like that he cried. We both sobbed on Boellhoff's headstone. What I feared most about coming was happening...
I didn't want to go to the funeral
But I did.

And I saw one of God's soldiers return to dust from which he was formed. I heard his voice say, "Cammy, remember always that God is everything," just like he used to.

And just as he said this, with death weighing heavy on his flesh, with all the strength he could muster, I whispered it through tears--his war cry: "Jusqu'au but."

Heaven.

May His peace be with you 'til we meet again.
May His peace be with you 'til we meet again.
Til we reach that distant shore,
Where we'll shed a tear no more;
May He give you strength to endure,
Til we meet again.
Til we reach that promised land,
And we're walking hand in hand;
May he give you strength to stand,
Til we meet again...


"Jusqu'au but" is loosely translated as "until we reach our goal."