Last respects
Yes, always go to the funeral.
Recently, I went to the funeral for the father of a friend of mine. The father was murdered in his own home. It was very emotional, as you can understand. Between the service, which was beautiful and moving and infuriating because we wouldn’t have needed this service had someone not done what he did, we were all emotionally spent. I cannot imagine how my friend felt — I would have felt deeply angry; plus, the killer is still on the loose — and yet, somehow, he said to me later when he saw me in the receiving line, “I can always count on you.” And, yes, he can.
When my own father died after a protracted illness and I went to his funeral, it meant a great deal to me to see how many people came out and how many of them I knew from my childhood. One of his friends, Mr. Groff, cried in front of me, and I still love him for that. And, obviously, haven’t forgotten it.
In late 2003, a friend and former colleague died young, leaving behind a wife and a little boy. To this day, I don’t know why I didn’t go to the funeral. Whatever the reason was, it wasn’t good enough. Because I still think of him, and those thoughts are primarily tied up with my not having attended his funeral. That’s not how I’d like to remember him — by my poor behavior.
A very close friend of my 20s died last summer. This was a difficult person who nonetheless made a great impact on my young adulthood. I always thought we’d get back together. When I learned he died, I was stunned for weeks. Maybe months. Not surprised, but stunned nevertheless. I still feel strangely about it; again, because I thought we’d reconnect, and also because when your friends start to die, you know that death is getting closer to you. I emailed with his surviving family, all estranged, and learned that there wasn’t going to be a funeral. No service of any kind. Nothing to attend. Having learned my lesson, I would have flown across the country for that one. But there was nowhere to go. That is a sad final comment on someone of great talent who squandered so much.
January 27th, 2014 at 1:22 am
I enjoyed reading your feelings about the impact a funeral has upon us. In my father’s family, a Funeral was always a chance for old friends and relations who hadn’t seen each other in years to meet again, talk over old times, eat, drink and generally enjoy themselves, and it was really a Funeral unless there was a fight in the parking lot.
February 6th, 2014 at 2:15 pm
I attended a treasured Aunt’s funeral last week. It was important for my family. My Aunt Delores was my Dad’s sister. I wanted to be there for him very much, but I did not realize how much I really needed to be there for me.
Funerals I didn’t attend or in the case of our friend, where there was no service, it almost make the death unreal. In some ways, like sooner or later, I am left feeling as though am going to run into that person again. I always thought I would run into Jack again. I can’t remember my last words to Jack. I hope they were funny, interesting or at least kind. Endings are important.
In thinking about my own mother’s funeral, she was 47 when she died. I was shell-shocked. It is the memory of those who came that stay with me the most. One of them was a childhood friend. He was the class clown and for 8 years, Spencer Lyons made me laugh every single day. He came to grave side and he hugged me so tight, and he whispered the silliest Spencer joke. Worst day of my life, but I will never forget that Spencer came off a construction site, still in his work gear, to offer his respect, his love and the joke I needed to get through the day.