An imitation of life

I recently attended my grandmother's funeral. It was a sad time for all the family, though not tragic, as she lived a long and full life, which is something that never lasts forever.

During the open casket viewing, I saw a body that looked like my grandma. She was wearing her clothes, her ring, her necklace, her watch. The face looked like Grandma's, the hands were folded a lot like hers.

It wasn't Grandma, though.

There was something just underneath the surface that was not, could not be there. Her spirit was gone. Like a skillful wax statue, every detail of the living person was there except life itself. The most important part of what made that body "Grandma" was gone.

It was a bit disconcerting, and has stirred thoughts about my own life. How often do I exist in much the same state as my deceased grandmother, going through the motions of life, without putting my core into what I am doing. My heart, my soul, my spirit, my life. How often do you?

Grandma never did. She lived fully until she lived no more, cracking "Grandma-jokes" to the end. The most fitting tribute we can give to her memory is to do the same. Never imitate life, always live. Fully, completely, wonderfully, to the end.