“This is My beloved child, in whom I am well pleased.”

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”

St. Paul to Timothy

Friday I officiated at another funeral.  It was for Vivian.  Every person whose funeral I officiate is special to me.  I’m not one of those “hired guns” whom the mortuaries pay when families need a clergy person.  I do funerals for people I know and love.  Each one is meaningful.  Vivian’s was especially so.

Vivian was a member of one of the first Eight Week Early Stage Support Groups I did with the Alzheimer’s Association.  When I first met Vivian and her husband Dave, they were each accusing the other of having some cognitive challenges.  After listening to them go back and forth, I finally said, “How about you both come to the group and we figure out later who has the issue.”  So they did.  And it was wonderful. 

We became friends.  One day Vivian said, “Ralph, our pastor is sick and we need someone to fill in for him.  Would you do that for a month?”  I had left the pastoral ministry five years previously and had absolutely no intention of going back.  But it was Vivian asking, so I agreed.  You might have guessed the rest of the story; The pastor never got better, in fact he died four months later, and my temporary gig became permanent.  Throughout that time I ministered to Vivian.

The years went by and Vivian experienced some of the “typical” types of brain changes.  She sometimes forgot what she was doing, or what she was going to say.  Normally a very joyful person, Vivian at times was sullen–maybe even depressed.  She became more isolated, no longer wanting to attend her little church.  And on and on it went.  I visited them regularly, so I could easily see the changes occurring.  I watched Vivian become more discouraged and disheartened.  I listened as she expressed her disappointment and disgust over the effects the disease was having on her.  In some of our last visits before she died, Vivian would often-times ask variations of the question, “Why is God still leaving me here?”

And then suddenly, just a few weeks ago, Vivian died.  She has become another unfortunate statistic of the countless numbers who die from Alzheimer’s and related dementias.  The organization I used to work for tracked those numbers meticulously.  We had to keep careful count of those who we came in contact with.  It was very impersonal and dehumanizing.  But Vivian was NOT a statistic.  She was, and is, so much more.  She is a beloved child of God.  Vivan, and people like her who are living with some sort of cognitive decline are no less human, no less valuable, no less important than anyone else.  They matter.  Immensely.  Not as part of a cause or someone with a disease to be counted, but as a dearly loved person who is not only capable of but actually embody all of the most important elements of being human; feelings of joy and sadness; wanting to give and receive love; conscious of how they are seen and treated; desiring touch and affection.  It is more than unfortunate that a person who dies as the result of some form of dementia counts as a number or a statistic.  The truth is they, and we, count for MUCH MORE THAN THAT!

Friday I officiated at Vivian’s funeral service.  It was wonderful!  But I did much more than merely conduct a service.  I relished Vivian’s life, all of it, even and especially these last years.  And I rejoiced that she is no longer suffering and has received the deliverance from this veil of tears into the perfect, peaceful Presence of God.  It’s what she desired for so long.  And I was also sad, and shed some tears, not only for Vivian, but for all of those who are overlooked and underappreciated and are considered to no longer count for much–except for being a statistic.