There’s a reason there’s a box of tissues in every pew at funerals. We shed tears as we remember our loved ones. But I wonder if for some people, being remembered with tears isn’t the choice they’d make.

One of the elders in our family, Aunt Mary Bett, recently passed away at the age of 95. She was a teacher, registrar, avid reader and cook. Mostly, she loved being a “Siti,” the Lebanese word for grandmother.

I wasn’t looking forward to the tears, but that’s not how Aunt Mary lived her life, and it wasn’t how her family honored her.

Instead, they chose to celebrate her life. Aunt Mary’s granddaughters created colorful posters with pictures featuring the different fun occasions the family shared.

As I went from poster to poster, one fact stood out – Aunt Mary was not only there, but she was an active participant in the festivities. Relatives spoke about Aunt Mary with laughter, and the photos surrounding us of her reflected her sunny disposition.

After the wake, we went to Aunt Mary’s house for food and visiting. Having the opportunity to reconnect with cousins was incredible. The cousins sat around the table – Aunt Mary’s favorite spot – and swapped family stories and lots of laughs.

We had shared memories of summers in Olean, N.Y., the homes and buildings we remembered roaming when we were kids. I came to appreciate even more their parents and our shared grandparents and great-grandparents.

Reminiscing about how our family made it through the early difficult years reminded me how fortunate I am to come from such strong people. That tough gene is obvious in my cousins who are incredible men and women.

It might sound weird to say I was glad I went to a funeral, but family bonds were strengthened that evening. I think Aunt Mary would be happy knowing we were sitting around her table sharing family lore.

On the way home, I thought about the hundreds of times my family has sat around a dinner table, talking for hours, playing games, eating and then going back for seconds. We went from kids around the table to teenagers to young adults to having grandchildren sit on our laps.

In all those occasions, there’s one constant – our mom. In the beginning she cooked all the food we ate. Later, she guided us as we slowly took over kitchen duties. Not only did she make sure we were all fed, Mom made sure she came to family functions.

Mom attended the graduation festivities for almost every grandchild, even the ones who lived in a different state. I took for granted she was going to come. I never considered the time she put in to make sure she was there for family.

Whenever she physically can, our 93-year-old Mom comes to family events for her great-grandchildren, and the little ones love to come and talk to her.

That showing up runs in our family. Our beloved Aunt Bev, who passed away much too young, came to almost every wedding and celebration we had.

It didn’t matter that she and our Uncle Jim had to book flights from Buffalo, N.Y. to Louisiana to celebrate with us.

It didn’t matter if it was summer in the South. Those two Northerners came and smiled through the humidity and heat.

Sorrow is a tough emotion, but it’s eased when shared by those who share your past.

Joy is a powerful emotion and enhanced when shared by those who love you.

If you’re lucky to be part of a large, healthy extended family – aunts, uncles, cousins upon cousins – try and attend family celebrations and, yes, even the sorrowful ones.

I like to think Aunt Mary was sitting with us that night, laughing at the stories we remembered. We’re connected when we sit around the kitchen table and share not only bread but memories.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.