Most of us prefer to put off fretting about funerals. This often unhappy topic arises now because I attended two such events this week--one a Catholic funeral mass for a man who was a memorable character and the other a memorial service conducted under secular auspices for a wonderful woman, stepdaughter of a close friend, who passed away far too early at 45.
I realized how the person leading the proceedings--religious or otherwise--makes all the difference in how you feel after the occasion. There was nothing exceptional about the content of the religious ceremony itself for my friend in his 60's, who died overseas on a bike trip of a sudden heart attack, except for the unusually perceptive eulogy delivered by one of his daughters, who happens to be a veterinarian, and who noted that he father had encouraged her interest and love of animals.
The deceased had a powerful personality, often expressed by slapping me (and others) on the back when he entered a room where I was present. I thought of the character played by Jackie Gleason on his television show: Charlie Bratton, "the Loudmouth." He would loudly enter a lunch counter eatery and seeing Art Carney eating lunch at the counter, playing a completely meek colleague, would slap him on the back and ask at high volume: "What's that slop you're eating?"
Nevertheless, my friend was a good-hearted guy, who worked for many years in addiction counseling and management. Only a few years before his sudden death, he had set out to earn his Ph.D. and managed to do just that quite speedily. He was someone who was more than helpful in threshing out a problem I or others might have.
Most significantly, this service benefited from the all-around encouraging and pleasant attitude and bearing displayed by the priest presiding over the mass. He is a Monsignor and he made everyone--including those like myself who are not Catholic--welcome and included. It happened to be a day where in the Baltimore-Washington metro area, the air quality reached Code Maroon, the highest level of bad air quality which had not been reached within living memory. The Monsignor twice referred to the air situation outside when he observed that this was not a day for an outdoor service and that in view of the air, he would forego ending the mass with the traditional incense. He then announced he would substitute a "Jewish Kaddish prayer".
That did take me by surprise as I mused to myself whether he was about to burst into the Hebrew text that is recited near the end of most Jewish services by mourners. In lieu of the now-vanished Latin in the church, Hebrew? As it happened, it was a prayer in English that speaks in the voice of the departed and asks those present to remember the departed one in all seasons.
The service for my friend's stepdaughter was held at the private school which she attended and was where she made many life-long friends. (My daughter attended the same school seven years later.) The school clearly meant a great deal to her because of all those strong and lasting friendships. Two of her closest college friends spoke about how much they enjoyed living and playing on teams with her, and a high school friend told of how much she had gained from the relationship. The women did keep noting that there were limits on their public recollections because of "appropriateness." Husband and brother spoke, and her brother by adoption spoke with quiet eloquence but briefly about how she had welcomed to him to the family.
She had spent her career in special needs education, dealing with autism, in particular. Seeing how she had brought so much pleasure, humor, and good feeling to everyone she had known, I found the testimony of her colleagues at the school where she taught and helped administer very believable and moving.
It brought to mind another post-funeral colloquy. This occurred outside St. Patrick's in New York between two teammates of the late Babe Ruth, whose funeral it was. One player said it was so hot outside the cathedral on this Manhattan summer day that he would really like a cold beer right then.
"So would the Babe," responded his teammate.
No comments:
Post a Comment