At the start of this year, my father died. It came as no great surprise - he was 86 and had suffered ill health for several months previous. However, it is never nice to lose close family, and they don't come much closer than your father.
Surprisingly, I found that heathenry helped give me strength at what was a trying, grief-ridden time. My knowledge of heathenry and the nature of my path meant that I appreciated that my father hadn't really gone anywhere. He was and is still present in myself, my brother and my sister. In true heathen style, we talk of him often and keep his memory alive - despite none of my family back in Lincolnshire actually being heathen.
I also noticed how many people came out of the woodwork, so to speak, to attend his funeral. Every last one of them said what a kind, simple man he was - and each seemed to have an anecdote to illustrate just the kind of man he had been. I found that very touching and the greatest possible affirmation that the most important thing that survives death is one's reputation.
I still think of him a lot, and miss him terribly. But now and then, I think of his having joined our ancestors and I still shares words with him, as I do with them. While there is little in the way of comfort in the heathen view of things, when a person dies, they are simply gone - joining our other honoured dead in the burial mound. However, there is a comfort to be had in the understanding of the way of things - old makes way for new.
Save me a space on the bench, Dad. See you later.
No comments:
Post a Comment