For this prompt, I chose to write about a member of my family who died very recently. I believe it is important to share thoughts and feelings while we are alive to do so, and this is how I feel.

My cousin Denise was seventeen years old when I was born. I only got to know her as an adult. Her kids, my first cousins once removed, were more like first cousins, with Denise being just another older relative. My memories of her are notable for just being a down-to-earth person. She could be a loose cannon sometimes, with wild red hair and a colorful vocabulary, but I always respected her openness and her candor. She was relatable and easy to get to know. 

My most cherished memory was the conversation we had at a family reunion over a decade ago when Denise and her husband were going through RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) to join the Roman Catholic Church. I don’t remember how the topic came up, but her entire body lit up with excitement as she spoke about her journey back to God and how she was looking forward to entering into a deeply intimate connection with God through the Eucharist. Denise was wearing a Harley Davidson shirt and a black bandana and did not give off the saintly image of a person who was in the throes of spiritual reawakening. But she was genuinely happy and I was happy with her. Her smile that day is a memory I will cherish forever. 

Denise was the first person of my generation to die. I got a call from my mom on December 6, 2023  that Denise had suffered a heart attack while out shopping and was having a “hard time” in the hospital, whatever that meant.  I got through the initial shock quickly. People had heart attacks all the time. Doctors were checking for brain activity but that didn’t really mean anything, I guess. Doctors ran tests all the time.  I imagined my cousin sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, talking with the family and getting ready to go home. Mom relayed the message that there was no brain activity, yet in my mind I saw her at the next reunion playing with a new grandkid. She would respond to my next text and answer my next email. They call this stage of grief “denial.” 

I was brought back to a similar scene on August 29, 2007 when my uncle, Lanis Jaeger, died. He was the first one of my mom’s siblings to die. The family was caught off guard and there was little time to process what was happening. His death opened a proverbial floodgate and within five years we lost four more Jaeger siblings and two of their spouses. Every year meant another funeral and I wondered who was next. I was angry with Denise, with God, the universe, for starting this over again. Dying is for old people. Not my people. I would dig my heels into the ground and not let this happen. But it was of no use. She passed away on December 9. 

At the funeral, Mom commented that this was her first niece to pass away. Mom wishes she would have called more and I wish I had told Denise how much I appreciated her. We somehow ended up sitting with her immediate family, in the second pew from the front. I looked around at the kids in the room and wondered if they would remember their grandmother. The Paschal candle was brought in and the funeral Mass began. I thought about white baptismal gowns and the white linens that cover caskets or urns. I thought about life being a journey from God to God. If the afterlife is really what our Christian faith teaches (and I believe it is), Denise is surely on her way back to Him. I felt bad for wanting to keep her here. 

After the funeral was over, I found the priest and asked for a copy of his homily. While the rest of the family gathered in the parish hall to visit, I wandered back into the church and read his notes, which were both handwritten and typed. My attention was brought to a paragraph he had highlighted in bright yellow. 

“God creates us in our mother’s womb, counts the hairs on our heads, and creates us as unique individuals and sends us out into the world. While in the world, God provides for us and sustains us. He guides us so that one day as our bodies wear out and bodily life ends, we can return to Him. Heaven is the goal for all of us. That is our going home, and for this we are created.”

I’ve always viewed “hell” as loneliness. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid of death. One of the hymns sung at the funeral was “Be Not Afraid” and in it are the words: “If you stand before the power of hell, and death is at your side, know that I am with you through it all.” Will the family experience another wave of grief and loss? Maybe. 

I thought back to the reunion when Denise talked so eagerly about her journey back to God. We’ll all experience death no matter how hard we drag our heels. But we’re in this together and we’re in this with God. In some way, through her death, Denise showed me that it’s okay to let go.

In the quiet stillness of the church, I heard time moving forward.

Obituary