Lessons From A Funeral

I used to just assume that most people understood and knew the good in themselves. I didn’t tell people I saw their awesomeness, their worth, their beauty, because I thought it was obvious. Now I know it isn’t. Not to them, anyway. Even a person you look up to, a person you see as successful & confident (so obviously, they’d know their own awesomeness, right?), doesn’t necessarily see what you see.

You should tell them what you see.

I first started thinking about this at my Dad’s funeral three years ago. So many people talked about how he affected their lives and what he meant to them, yet he often considered himself a useless failure. (Once, when I was a kid, I found a piece of paper he’d written “I’m a failure” on over and over until it filled the page, so I’m not exaggerating here). I started thinking about how we often don’t tell each other these things until it is too late.

There have been quite a few posts lately that I’ve seen about telling people you like their art, words, creations, or just that you appreciate their existence. It’s fitting that I’m seeing them on the week that it’s been 3 years since I lost my Dad. Three years since that funeral.

One of those posts was a twitter poll. I answered the joke answer, but ended up replying. I decided, though, that twitter really isn’t the best place to write about it. Because it would be a long, broken up thread. So, I am writing here instead. Not to anyone in particular. To everyone.

I don’t @ people online often. Even when I’m mentioning how much I enjoy what they created. I have a list of reasons why, mostly based in anxiety (which is based in fear, which I’ve always called my (and the world’s) greatest enemy). It always felt like a cry for attention when it was really just me trying to tell someone I enjoyed what they created. (And as with all things, I’m always afraid I’ll be misunderstood or leave a typo). The recent posts have made me realize that it’s all silly excuses and I should be letting people know that I enjoyed their work.

After my dad’s funeral, I planned to write some letters to people from my past who probably don’t know how much they affected my life. I started two of them. I never finished or sent either one. One is to my art teacher and adviser from college. I have a degree in art. I’ve taken art classes in and out of school since elementary school. He’s the first teacher who allowed me the freedom and support to stop trying to be the artist others wanted me to be, and start being the artist I am. He’s also the first art teacher I had that treated students like artists instead of students. To explain that would be an entire post itself so I’ll leave it there for now. (Maybe I’ll write that post later).

Another thing I said I would do after the funeral was to tell people things I would often (not always, but more often than I should) leave in my head. Simple things. Every day things. I used to do it – tell people. I went through old posts and saw how much I used to interact online, and I know life mirrored that (or it mirrored life?), but it dropped off after a time where grief started crushing me. I lost quite a few people and pets in a row, and grief likes to compound. I don’t think I realized quite how much it changed me until now. I retreated from life. But I needed that retreat at the time. I don’t need it anymore.

So, that is my new goal for this year. To mention the good, the beauty, the worth, the awesomeness. The world may suck and seem like it’s falling apart, but we are all stuck here together. And maybe I can make someone’s day a little brighter. Or maybe I can help someone see themselves from another perspective. Even if it’s only for a fleeting second. If the past three years have taught me anything, it’s that we can all use more seconds of happiness or light.