I was a pallbearer in a funeral a good 20, 25 years ago, and for some reason that’s still not clear to me, we ended up driving the hearse (I always assumed someone from the funeral home would do that, no?). Anyway, the pallbearer/driver - thank god it wasn’t me - missed the motorcycle cop’s signal to make a left at one point. We realized our mistake, however, so at the next left we made a u-turn in the hearse and came back.
At the same time, about half the procession had followed us, and half had gone the right way…what a mess. When we finally got to the cemetery half the people thought it was pretty funny, half didn’t. I guess it depended on whether you were forced to make an unexpected u-turn.
It was on the way to the cemetery to bury a friend’s mother on a cold, blustery and rainy October day. The limos were making their way through traffic in a solemn line. Through the back window of the limo ahead of us, I saw all heads turned to the right, mouths open - laughing. An elderly woman was on the side walk in a skirt and trench coat with a small dog under her arm. The problem was that she’d gathered the little dog, her trench coat, and her skirt under her arm and she was now walking up a main street in Toronto with only panty hose to keep out the cold.
Every car who passed her had the same thought: you’d think she’d feel the draft.
A somewhat different take…my family stock is exceptionally long-lived (most have made it past 90). Consequently, there have been discrete “waves” of family funerals-35-40 years ago, when my grandparents passed on…and now, as my parent’s aunts, uncles take their leave.
I’ve noticed that funerals for very elderly people aren’t all that bad-generally, everybody remembers the good things. But now, most of the survivors are so old they cannot attend anymore.
I remembered another good one - my Mom’s “best friend in the whole wide world practically her sister”. She died of liver cancer, mercifully she went quickly from diagnosis to death - not much time lingering in pain. The memorial was held at her house in upper NY state on a perfect fall day. The weather was comfortable - neither too hot nor too cold. The foliage was gorgeous, and all of her friends and co-workers were there. People had lovely stories to share, and her ex-husband (who was still close with her, just not married to her) read a beautiful statement that she wrote herself. It began “You don’t think I’d let you do this without getting the last word?” All very moving and sweet.
The “bad” there was that my Mom or Dad didn’t say anything, and I didn’t get a chance to say anything either. And it seems my “Aunt” cheated at cards - almost every speaker felt compelled to mention it. I never experienced this part of her character, and I’d played bridge with her a time or two. I was getting pissed about it, but I didn’t say or do anything about it at the time. It was all said in good fun, as if it were her only flaw. Still, a great celebration of her life.
My mother’s sister passed away suddenly a few years ago from complications of pancreatic cancer (we knew she didn’t have much time left, but she had been fine that whole day, etc.). My parents and I (16 at the time) flew out for the funeral along with my 80-year-old grandmother.
This didn’t happen at the funeral itself, but we ate lunch with my cousins and uncle (deceased’s children and husband) the day of the wake. Everyone was holding it together pretty well, until my grandmother opened her mouth to attempt to comfort my uncle, who is a farmer. “You’ll be okay, Eldon. You have you house, and your farm, and your cattle to keep you company.” Everyone started bawling and my dad looked like he wanted to murder my grandmother, who was also the mother of the woman that had passed away.
The funny:
A relative passed away last February, and my dad’s cousin was one of the pallbearers. As they walked past with the flag-draped coffin, his 80-something year old mother yelled, “He’s got a bad shoulder! How the hell is he carrying it?” I think she also made a loud remark during Taps as well.
My mom’s favorite aunt died when I was four years old. She couldn’t find a babysitter, so she took me along because I was a quiet kid anyway. After the funeral, we were at the luncheon when someone asked who wanted dessert, and my little hand shot straight in the air, making everyone laugh.
My great uncle died last fall. The priest made an interesting comment that was something along the lines of, “You know those Germans. They don’t show their emotions.” It was an odd moment. I felt like most of the service concentrated too much on the religious aspect and not enough on my great uncle, but no one else seemed to mind. Anyway, after the graveside service, my husband, my brother, and I got lost trying to get out of the cemetery somehow.
When my great aunt (great uncle’s wife) died, my mom, brother, grandma, and I weren’t sure how to get from the cemetery to the place where the luncheon was being held. My grandma said, “Just follow that Mercedes. It’s probably going to the same place.” Nope, it wasn’t. I don’t know how long we followed it before we figured that out, but it became a joke after that. We made it to the luncheon eventually.
When my grandma died, there was a woman at the luncheon who looked like an Elvis impersonator. My brother, husband, and I probably laughed amongst ourselves too much about that. On a less humorous note, the pastor during the funeral service managed to screw up my father’s family’s nickname for him.
I was at one recently and the reverend gave a “fire and brimstone” sermon even though the deceased didn’t want a sermon at all. Though really that’s the family’s fault partly too. Speaking of which, her scum daughters brought their even scummier boyfriends (who the deceased hated with a passion) and couldn’t even be bothered to show up on time. I kept wishing for the mother and daughters to magically trade places somehow and reminded why I felt so strongly for forced neutering for people like the latter.
I wonder if they make some device that can block/scramble cell phones? If so I will ensure I leave instructions for these at my funeral. I hate the damn things.
Excuse you?
So honor the deceased’s wishes - unless you don’t like them, then screw it do whatever you want?
Honor the deceased’s wishes. Period. (unless they’re totally unreasonable/etc, common sense has to kick in) It isn’t about you FYI.
Awkward: I went to school with a boy with Muscular Dystrophy. He passed away last year. I found out on a Friday that his wake was Sunday. I had hoped former classmates would also attend, despite the short notice. Of course, I was the only one there, hence I’m in a room with a bunch of strangers.
Funny (all from my Grandmother’s funeral): At her wake, my 2-year-old nephew met his aunt’s (my sis) future in-laws for the 1st time. He smiles, and says,“Hi Buck’s mom, hi Buck’s dad.” (Buck is his nickname) On the way to the graveside, we managed to have people “hijack” our procession. When they arrived, they quickly realized their mistake. (not as funny) On the way home, my father had to show a house (he’s a p/t realtor) to my bro’s friends. My system decides to rebel, and I mess my mother’s apholstry. (my nose got rubbed in this for awhile after)
Weird: At my uncle’s wake, I saw one of my cousin’s friends there, and I thought “hey she’s cute.” I had to leave because I CHECKED OUT A GIRL AT A WAKE! (I recounted this story in my original run here on the Dope)
Another funny: During my grandfather’s procession, my wheelchair fell off the back of my mother’s station wagon.
My grandfather’s wake was held at a local funeral home. Between children and spouses, grandchildren, colleagues, friends, family of friends, friends of family, there were a lot of people passing through. I was catching up with some siblings and cousins while keeping half an eye on the receiving line in case someone I knew should pass by. I noticed a woman enter dressed all in black. I noticed her not because of the black (although her garments were not what I would call a somber cut), but because she was heavily accesorized with a good deal of large (I presume) cubic zircona accoutrements, including a reasonably large and blingie hairband. Also, she was pushing a pram.
As she passed by in line, I peeked inside the old-fashioned stroller and saw a little black dog. It was decked out in a small red chiffon princess dress with a sash, and wore a cz-studded collar that sort of matched its owner’s blingie hairband. The dog showed no interest in any of its surrounding; I think it was overcome with embarrassment.
The owner and the pram proceeded past my grandfather’s casket and along the receiving line. They paid their respects. My grandmother is unflappable; she did not appear flapped.
The funeral home staff apologized to us later. They said when the woman had brought the dog in, it had been wearing a Service Vest, so they allowed it. Apparently the owner (the spouse of the son of longtime family friends) removed the vest as soon as they got inside, so as not to clash with the red chiffon dress.
The saddest memorial service I have ever been to was for my friend who passed away last year. She had known for a long time that she was dying, so she had actually written most of the memorial service herself. During the service, there was a slide show of family pictures that was showing and towards the end of the hour, her 5-year-old son looked up, saw her picture, and started crying for his Mommy. It was so horribly, wrenchingly sad.
My Mother-in-Law passed away earlier this year, and there were so many moments along the way that made me laugh harder than I thought I should during a terrible time, cry harder than I knew I would, or both at the same time. My kids came to the wake, which was fairly long for young children (4 hours, although I did take them home after 3 or so). I had bought some toys to take out when their attention waned, including some Cars 2 cars for my son. He kept going up to the casket to talk to Nana (he was big on wishing her luck in her journey and actually, in the days before she died, suggested that we bake her a good luck cake—talk about laughing and crying at the same time). I found it very sweet, until I noticed that he was rolling one of his toy cars along the casket. My sister-in-law reminded me that Nana would have thought that was just fine.
The service itself was pretty amazing. My nephew (by marriage) sang Abide With Me, and I still get goosebumps when I think about it. I knew he was “into singing”, but I had no idea of the depth of his talent. And my brother-in-law gave a eulogy that managed to be funny in places, wry in places, and then sucker-punched you with sadness in the end. It was a lovely tribute to a lovely woman.
Damn. I’m tearing up now. Next week would have been her birthday and I miss her terribly.
/Tangent Back in the 70’s, when overpopulation was always a big topic of discussion, my Grandfather would never fail to chime in that “You could cut the population growth of Ireland in half, just by outlawing Wakes.” Flirtation, poker, food, and booze were the order of the evening. And yes, sit up the deceased and pour one for him/her as well!! angent
A friend of the wife’s died in his forties from a brain tumor - had wife and two young daughters so the funeral was pretty hard going.
Now Matthew wasn’t the church going type so the service at the crematorium (no church first) was conducted skillfully not to mention god at all, whilst providing enough comfort to those attending that did (which did not include his wife or kids either). A tough job to pull off well and the minister did it well.
Matthew had though clearly left instructions for some chosen pop songs to be played rather than hymns sung. As others have said, these services are for the living not the dead so if I was him I would have allowed folk to have a good sing to a few well known hymns - often makes people feel better having something to do to join in. Instead all the songs he had played have just become difficult for those that loved him due to the memories they bring up.
So when “Hungry Heart” comes on the radio, five years later or so, my wife still wells up within a few bars. Awkward when she’s driving for instance…
After my father’s funeral, my literary uncle who always has to trump everybody declaimed that Dad had been “the last hidalgo”, the last man to keep a certain code of conduct and honor.
People started nodding, but I said “not accurate. You simply haven’t met your brother’s friends.”
People went silent, and then those who did know my father’s friends said “true”.
The last hidalgo… except for those still standing.
The moron who officiated the funeral of my art teacher described him as “a sweet man” at one point. There was a moment of stunned silence before everybody, including the widow, broke into giggles. Dude was a helluva artist and a helluva teacher, but about as sweet as tequila.
All very moving and sweet.
angent