We were in the middle of our usual homesteading projects when our plans for this week changed suddenly Tuesday evening. My mom’s younger brother, my uncle, passed away unexpectedly at the age of 49. We are still waiting to find out the cause, though we suspect a heart attack or a stroke.

When tragedy strikes, time becomes something strange. Some moments are stretched out, each second like a synthesized chord that won’t fade away. Other moments seem to pass like a gunshot, leaving you blinking with an aching exit wound and wondering what happened.

The phone call, the car ride, the quiet paramedics, the body bag: all gunshot moments I am still bandaging.

Everything else has felt stretched out. Funeral home appointments. Phone calls to family members. Service preparations. And in the midst of it, life goes on. Babies still need to be fed and rocked to sleep. Meals still need to be made and eaten; laundry still needs to be done.

In one of the stretched out moments we continued with some of the manual labor for our house. As I watched the clouds of dust roll through the trenches we were filling in, I had two phrases echoing in my head.

The first was from the Ash Wednesday service we would attend as Anglicans: Remember, O Man, that you are but dust, and to dust you shall return. This is the reality of our fallen Creation. Eventually, for all of us, our soul will be separated from our body and our body will decompose. Death would like nothing more than for us to despair here, eyes fixed on the dust instead of letting it direct us towards repentance and preparation for a good death.

The other phrase was from the Paschal homily of St John Chrysostom that we read every Easter: O Death, where is your sting? O Hell, where is your victory? This is our reality as Christians. Death and Hell have no power over us that we do not choose ourselves. Fallen Creation will be made new. Dust is not the end.

That same evening my uncle died, our priest came to pray a trisagion for his soul — select hymns and prayers from the Rite of Burial, usually sung before a funeral. He also anointed us with Holy Unction. We sang Memory Eternal, echoing the words of the thief on the cross beside Christ: remember him when You come into Your Kingdom.

Over this last year, my family has lost three key people in our lives. We are weary. It feels like death is mocking us; trying to beat us down as we persevere towards building our homestead. But if anything, our prayers and resolve have doubled. Through our everyday faithfulness in taking care of our families and providing for those around us who are in need, we are furthering the Kingdom of God. We fight back chaos and death every day in our gardens, restoring order and life by the sweat of our brow. Now more than ever, we see the importance of our small work.

I will miss my uncle. I prayed over his body, and I kissed his forehead as I said goodbye. Our relationship had been strained in the past, but we had repaired and grown closer over the last few years. He was not a perfect man, but I loved him. And he loved me, very much.

Please pray for us as we grieve, and continue on doing the works God has given us to do.

May his memory be eternal.

O Death, where is your sting? O Hell, where is your victory? Christ is risen, and you are overthrown. Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen. Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice. Christ is risen, and life reigns. Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave. For Christ, being risen from the dead, is become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. To Him be glory and dominion unto ages of ages. Amen.

St John Chrysostom