The pews filled in sequence like molasses spreading out on a warm summer day. Most church funerals for a well-known person are astonishingly well attended by people, arriving from near and far to show their respect to the one deceased and for support of the family, all the while catching up on the news with old acquaintances not seen in eons. The atmosphere is idyllic; familiar hymns of praise and prayers for a celebration of life. However, one gainful prospect goes disregarded.
Unlike in a regular church service, the presence of worshipers is scarce and becoming scarcer. The funeral as described, doesn’t pass around the collection plate. Never in vogue and invasive to some, it would though be an opportunity to improve the much-needed finances of most churches that need help to keep the doors open!
Viewings of the body can be unsettling, as in the case of my Sheila’s ex. The morning before, her cousin Sheldon arrived a few hours before the official start. In fact, just moments before the start, an earthquake struck Ottawa and area and was felt in the funeral home itself. Everyone was rushed out for precautionary reasons. Sheldon said, as he was coerced out the entrance to the parking lot, “I waited hours for this viewing to begin and now I’m asked to leave before it starts!”
Circa 25-years ago, an elderly man raised in Westmeath died. Within 24 hours his wife passed. It was a most talked about happenstance by those who knew them, a somewhat a mysterious occurrence. Double coffins weren’t in fashion way back then!
The eulogy is a speech given at a memorial or funeral service typically delivered by one or more family members that celebrates the life of the deceased. Most people say they dread it, partly because of the fear of public speaking and partly because it is so emotional. One funeral I was at, the eulogy was from a son to his mother. He said, “My mother passed away peacefully in her sleep on July 11th at the young age of 94 years, her death was attributed to carrying her oxygen tank up the long flight of stairs to her bedroom causing her heart give out.” He added that she had left behind a hell of a lot of stuff for her family who have no idea what to do with it. To me, it sounded more like a pawn shop pitch than an eulogy!
When it is my time to leave, I have written a personal quote that is stipulated in my living will, to be read:
“It troubles me to admit it, but apparently, I have passed away. Everyone reminded me it would happen one day, but it was not something I wanted to hear, much less experience, so I blocked it from my thoughts. Once again, I didn’t get things my way like so many of my aspirations that went unfulfilled — but not in my imagination. My imagination has been the best story of my life.”
There is one funeral story I can’t forget but wish I could. I was driving my ex in her car, and her sister to another sister’s husband’s funeral in Brampton, leaving from Wasaga Beach. Not far from Brampton I ran out of gas. Of course, both doubled down on my carelessness for not checking the gauge. A van pulled up with a Newfoundlander new to Ontario who offered help. He had just enough gas in a can for me to reach a service station. He was great, wouldn’t dream of taking money for giving me a chance to make it to the funeral on time. We finally arrived, the funeral was underway and filled to capacity, even people standing outside the door. The ‘hell’ I got on the way down was mild compared to now; hell hath no fury by two women scorned. When I got my bearings back the next day I realized, “It was my ex’s car I drove to the funeral so she should rightfully have been responsible for the empty gas tank.” It would be purposeless to bring it up so I didn’t.
As they say, the only sure things in life are death and taxes. To die by execution has to be the most horrible and hopeless feeling in the world. When I see a movie with death row in it, I feel the dread creeping all over me like an out-of-control rash. It is one fear of mine that has kept me on the straight and narrow all these years.
