Living the Time That's Left

I attended a funeral this morning. This isn't a particularly uncommon in my profession, since funerals, death, and grief are as much a part of faith as anything. This morning, however, I attended the funeral of a parishioner, whose spouse is Catholic, so rather than officiating, I attended. Sat in the pews, sang the hymns, listened to the homily. You know, worship. It is a rare gift as clergy to be able to receive worship rather than to be the one making it happen, even on sad occasions. 

The priest shared a great deal about the way this person had lived. The joy he had spread to others, the generosity he had had for the community, the way he had shared himself to those he loved. The man being memorialized was an embodiment of gratitude--it permeated every aspect of his life. He had been a walking, talking letter of gratitude. It got me thinking about what kind of effect gratitude has had and will continue to have on me. My hope is that as I continue this practice, gratitude will slip into other aspects of my life, tucked into quiet conversations and important moments. My hope is that this practice will become infectious, so that I will feel gratitude in unsuspecting places, and will feel free to share gratitude with anyone. 

So far, to be honest, it's still hard. It makes me feel vulnerable and sometimes uncomfortable to put myself out there, even to people I cherish. But someday, my loved ones will be gone, and I don't want to spend the moments after regretting the things I've left unsaid. And somedays after, I will be gone, too. I want those who have known me to know gratitude, through the ways that I lived, for the things that I said, for the ways that I was afraid but didn't let fear stop me. If I can do that and know with my last breath that I could and did embody gratitude, then I will be satisfied. That is worth the risk.