I, too, aspire to die with my boots on, doing something I love. I’d rather burn out while still working for the Lord—not rust out with my slippers on, in some diseased state. Not that I will have much choice in this matter. None of us do. Having just finished five funerals in four weeks, two in the last two days, death is on my mind.
I have nothing specific in mind, no premonitions of immediate demise, just a strong desire to finish well. I should add for those not tracking every turn in my career path that I am now a hospice chaplain attending to several patients or residents every week, with one actively dying on my watch, in any given week.
You might think I am inured of death, even jaded; I assure you that I am not. I still tear up when delivering some funeral messages or gazing into the eyes of a nonverbal person just wishing to be taken “home” (to heaven).
Recently, I was moved to tears of joy for two families who had just lost a beloved parent. In each case, I narrated a life well-lived, capturing what they most treasured, weaving whatever the next generation told me I could re-tell everyone else attending the funeral. Some people are idolized in death by their kids and by me in the eulogy, but in these two instances, I could sense integrity. I could see that their loved one had left behind the legacy of adult children who embody what their parent believed in.
The positive optimism and possibility thinking, a value that a Russian woman instilled in her son Alex, was infectious to all those who cared for that mom in her last years. I thought I loved my mom more than any man could love his mom, until I heard Alex tell his story. Theirs is a friendship like no other.
Likewise, I saw a love of fishing and fighting to the end that a dear dad and grandpa instilled in the next generation or two. To quote from his devoted son and two daughters: “I know we wouldn't be the hard-working, kind-hearted people we are today without him. Giving it your all and finishing well was important to him and a value I now have for myself and one I want for my kids. He has taught us other life lessons that we have yet to fully understand. One day we will, and the impact of our dad as a parent will continue to ring through.”
To have their sons and daughters pay tribute not only with their lips, but with their lives—what more could a parent ask for? Oh, to be so blessed and to see others extend that blessing.
But I will also have one death in my front windshield, as it were—that is, on the front of my mind, propelling me forward to complete the volunteer mission in his honor. I am not referring to a funeral I must still perform, but to the tragic death of Robert Weitzel that happened last month and which haunts me still and which motivates me forward.
His death rocked my boat. I am not in the same boat as Robert. For one, he was a kayaker and a biker, whereas I am a canoeist and a hiker. For another, he was a guidance counselor at Glacier Creek Middle School and raising funds for five Middleton (WI) youth to attend next year, whereas I am a hospice chaplain working with people at the other end of life’s continuum. Yet I am one that he inspired to go to the BWCA with Big City Mountaineers this summer, so I could mentor youth from Minneapolis, along with my son—all on vacation with the purpose and passion he had.
I will have more to report when I return from this canoe trip. For now, I want you to join me vicariously, if not financially, to help complete the mission begun by Weitzel. Contributions may be made at www.bigcitymountaineers.org
Having no kids of his own, Weitzel lived for other kids and died doing something he loved, in support of a good cause. That’s an aspiration shared by many, myself included.