Saying Good-Bye Isn't Easy

Someone I liked and admired passed away this week. I attended his funeral, which was a moving experience on several levels. I started thinking about funerals, celebrations of life, and how they are approached.
I’ve been to a lot of funerals. My father was the youngest of fourteen children and he’s the last man standing. So, I’ve said “so long” to aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and my mother. My friends and my cousins have lost parents. Think about this: since my father, who will turn 80 this year, is the last of his generation still with us, he has become quite a father figure for his nieces and nephews. I am grateful that I still have a parent, because so many people my age do not.
A buddy of mine was called upon to do the eulogy at the service I attended most recently. This man is an accomplished and deeply experienced public speaker, but he was noticeably apprehensive as he approached the microphone for this speaking engagement. He did the deceased proud, though. When he sat down, he exhaled audibly, a sigh of relief mixed with grief. To be asked to eulogize someone is an honor difficult to pass up but nonetheless challenging to confront.
My first eulogy was for my mother. I had so much to say to those assembled. To be honest, I was angry and my first inclination was to express that. She died of lung cancer and never knew her grandchildren. I pleaded, cajoled, manipulated, threw tantrums and anything else I could think of for as long as I could remember to try to convince her to stop smoking. You know when she finally did? When the doctor carved her open and cut out one of her lungs. It didn’t do much good. Many of the people in the room for her funeral were around us as I was growing up. I was often criticized, rebuked and belittled because of my relentless anti-smoking efforts in my house. I was angry at all of them for sitting around the table and encouraging her habit. I wanted to tell them exactly that as they sat politely to say good-bye to her.
Ultimately, I decided that was a bad idea. The notion was inappropriate and the action certainly would have been over the top. So, I wrote some kind of pseudo-allegorical essay that I delivered through my grief and resentment. Some people liked it. I’m sure most people were confused by it. Fortunately for me and for them, that was the last most of us saw of one another. My motives for doing that eulogy were selfish. It was a cathartic experience, though, and I learned from it.
Since that time, I’ve become an old hand at paying tribute to the departed. My oldest friend, along with his brothers and sisters, asked me to eulogize both of his parents. I must have done an okay job with their father, because saying good-bye to their mother was quite an order. Those requests are among the greatest honors and most cherished memories I have. Those folks were the most positive influences in my life as I grew up, and I will always love that family. I also spoke at my wife’s grandfather’s funeral. I loved that old man as if I had known him all my life, and my own family honored me by bestowing that privilege upon me.
People don’t know how to react to the funeral speaker sometimes. My dear, sweet sainted Aunt died a few years ago (she was the last of my father’s siblings to pass away). My cousin and my uncle asked me to “say a few words” at the service. It was really the only time I’ve felt kind of intimidated in that setting. I had dozens of critical cousin eyes on me during that funeral. Being the youngest child of the youngest child, there’s a strange, strong family dynamic working there. In their eyes, sometimes I’m still a little kid, I think. I thought I did a nice job, and I got lots of pats on the back and compliments.
I was quite comfortable in my aunt’s home, as you might imagine. I spent a lot of time there growing up. In the absence of my mother, she in large measure played the role of grandmother to my children. To this day, there are cousins, older ones, I still haven’t met. Thirteen aunts and uncles produce a lot of relatives across a broad age range. I met one of my cousins for the first time at my aunt’s house that day. After the funeral, I was making myself at home. As I recall, I was standing in the kitchen, staring out the window and drinking a Coke. Suddenly, I noticed a person standing uncomfortably close to me. She was lovely, about fifteen years older. She said, “Excuse me. Who are you?” I introduced myself. Upon investigation, I discovered this woman is, in fact, my first cousin. She had no idea I even existed. She didn’t know my father, her uncle, even had a son. I was in my forties at the time, so I said, “Well, he’s had a son for more than forty years. I’m sorry you missed the news.” Cousins with whom I am actually acquainted told me later that this woman basically considers herself the matriarch of our generation. So, she was distressed that this person she did not know seemed to be the center of attention. Like I said, funerals are weird.
These occasions seem less somber than they used to be. Maybe I’ve just grown accustomed to the process. The man my buddy eulogized knew he was about to die. He recorded a message on video that was played back at the funeral. That was a new one for me. He said when he got word that his cancer was terminal; he accepted the news in the same manner in which he would have if he had been told he was cured. He had that much faith. He thanked his friends, his family and his church for their love, support and prayers. He asked everyone not to forget about his wife now that he isn’t around. It was just remarkable.
I haven’t thought much about how I would like my funeral to go when I die. I see it this way: I’m gone. The service is for those left behind. I’ve told my wife that, if I should die, she should marry for money next time. She married for love once and it’s worked out pretty well so far. So, it’s up to her and the kids what happens. Maybe I should make a videotape or a DVD now in case something happens suddenly. Probably not, although I would be the center of attention one last time. It would be my funeral, and I’ve had lots of practice.

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