I had never had the privilege of writing a eulogy, let alone delivering one. It was one of the greatest honors of my life. It was also one of the hardest things I have ever written.
How do you take a life and condense it into ten minutes? How do you measure the impact of another human being? How do you possibly find the words to explain what one person meant to a family, a community, a school, a church, or simply to you? It is an enormous and daunting task.
What I didn’t expect was that while I was trying to measure someone else’s life, I would begin measuring my own.
How Do You Measure a Life?
My Aunt Sheila was laid to rest a little over two weeks ago. Since delivering her eulogy, I have spent a lot of time thinking about what matters. I know what you’re thinking……..Heidi, you have been talking about what matters for fifteen years.
Fair point. Yet somehow, this feels different. Writing a eulogy asks you to look at someone’s life from the outside. You search for the moments, choices, relationships and threads that defined that person. However, it is almost impossible to do that without eventually turning the mirror around and looking within your own.
The honor isn’t meant to be a measuring stick or a comparison. Still, evaluating someone else’s life from the outside has a funny way of making you evaluate your own from the inside.
What am I doing with my time? Who am I showing up for? What will the people I love remember? Those questions have stayed with me.
A Legacy of Love
For most of my life, I would have told you that Aunt Sheila’s legacy was service. She was a Sister of the Holy Child Jesus for 67 years. She was an educator, principal, therapist, pastoral minister and advocate. She served children, families, schools, survivors of sexual abuse, communities and countless people whose names I will never know. Service seemed like the obvious answer.
Near the end of her life, however, I asked her what she thought her legacy was. I told her that I thought it was service. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she lifted her hands and formed them into the shape of a heart. Love.
Of course. I had gotten it wrong. Service was simply the vehicle Aunt Sheila used to distribute her love to the world. There was another way she shared that love too. Perhaps it was even simpler. She showed up.
Again and again, she was there. She came to games, school plays, Grandparents’ Days, celebrations, difficult moments and ordinary ones. Sometimes she arrived early. Occasionally she arrived unannounced. Every once in a while, I’m not entirely sure she was actually invited. But she showed up. More importantly, she was present.
A Different Decision
About a month ago, I heard that a dear friend of mine from out of town was having a surprise 60th birthday party. Normally, my practical brain would have taken over immediately. Too far. Too expensive. Too much going on. I can’t possibly justify flying somewhere for a surprise birthday party. There would have been a dozen perfectly reasonable reasons not to go.
Then I thought about Aunt Sheila.
I had just written and delivered an entire eulogy about the importance of showing up for the people we love. How could I stand in a church and talk about her beautiful example and then not allow that example to change me? So I texted my girlfriend’s husband. “I’m coming. I’ll be there!” And I went.
The look on my friend’s face when she realized I had flown in from Los Angeles just for her party was priceless. However, the real gift wasn’t the surprise. It was the time. We have shared more than forty years of friendship. Four decades of life, laughter, change, joy, loss and memories. We were in each others weddings and have been dear friends since high school. Suddenly, spending the money and making the trip didn’t feel extravagant. Not going would have.
Showing up was a privilege and a gift, not for her but for me. In some small way, it felt like I was honoring my friend, our friendship and Aunt Sheila all at once.
The Gift of Our Time
We make hundreds of decisions every day about how to spend our time. Most of them feel small and inconsequential. Yet perhaps they aren’t. Time is one of the most precious things we have because we cannot earn more of it, save it for later or get it back once it is gone.
Where we go matters. Who we spend it with matters. Most importantly, showing up matters. When we intentionally align the gift of our time with the gift of the people we love, something changes. We become more present. Our relationships deepen. The people we love feel valued, and somehow, we do too.
Aunt Sheila understood that. Her life wasn’t extraordinary because of a résumé filled with accomplishments. It was extraordinary because of the countless people who knew she was there for them.
In the End
Someday, someone may stand up and try to condense each of our lives into ten minutes. But in the end, it really isn’t about the eulogy. It isn’t even about how many people show up at our funeral. It is about how we showed up for the people we loved while we were here. Did we make the call? Take the trip? Sit beside someone who was hurting? Celebrate the birthday? Listen when someone needed to be heard? Were we present?
Aunt Sheila taught me that service is love in action. Now I understand that showing up is too. Perhaps that is the real measure of a life. Not how much we accomplished, how busy we were or how many things we checked off our lists.
Maybe it is much simpler than that. Love the people God puts in your life. Give them your time. And when it matters, show up.
Because in the end, love is the only measure that matters.
CHARITY MATTERS.
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