Trumpets at funerals . . !

17

Something I do every morning before I write is to go into the net and peek at some of the newspapers that carry my column. This helps me get a ringside view of what’s happening in different parts of the world and what to focus my thoughts and my writing on. This morning I was gripped by an article just above mine, written by a mother, who talks about her only son:

“It was on 16th November, 1980 that my beautiful son was laid in my arms. As a mother, I cannot point out a single incident wherein he made me worried and cry. For him my happiness was all he could ever wish for, his happiness lay in mine.

For every mother their child is the best, and so it was for me. My only son was my life. My world just revolved around him. He was all I ever had and needed. Like me every one who knew him and loved him.” And then one day he died.“It was just a few weeks after he had celebrated his 25th birthday (16 November), I was away from home when I was told my baby was breathing his last breath in the Hospital. All the way from Imphal, I came that night with my brother. And there he was waiting for me in the ICU he was breathing his last breath for me, praying to God to let his mother reach him safely.

God answered his prayer and I reached him safely before he breathed his last. And my son passed away. I could have cried my whole life if that would bring him back, but I realized that there is a better place called “Heaven” where I will be his mother again and there no death will ever separate us again.”

I choked as I read this article, but praised God for giving her the certainty that she would be mother to her son again forever in a place where she would never be separated from him again. My wife came home last evening sad that a good friend was in her last stages of cancer, “They’d like to talk to you Bob!” she said, “but what are you going to tell her and her husband?” “To rejoice!” I told her and my shocked children. “But dad you can’t tell a grieving family to be happy?” “If one of you were to land with a fantastic job in a foreign land, I would grieve because I was going to miss you,” I said, “but I would be happy for you, wouldn’t I?” They nodded.

“A beautiful life begins with death,” I whispered, “a life where we live with God. Who are we to cry and be sad when someone we love is going someplace else for far better prospects? To a land of joy and happiness!” I remember seeing a certain Christian community in Mumbai blow trumpets at the funerals of their loved ones; what better way to wish someone who’s life is just about to begin joyously..!

 

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