Most people I talk to think I have the worst job in the world. Sometimes it is tough, but most of the time, such as today, I would not trade it for any other.
We had a funeral service for an mentally handicapped gentleman who had spent his entire life under the care of others. The past thirty were with the same organization. When I was making the arrangements for this service with a few of the directors of this group, they shared with me some stories about this man. From what they conveyed, I knew he was someone very special to them.
I asked if they expected a large attendance at the service, considering it was not going to be advertised in the newspaper. They informed me that there would be a considerable number of people there. They were right.
At 2 pm, people started to arrive. Honestly, I was surprised by the numbers. There was a large group of fellow residents of the various homes he lived in over the years as well as a great number of caregivers, both past and present.
The funeral home was filled when the service started thirty minutes later. It began with his favorite song. I don't remember the name of the song, but Vince Gill was the artist. Some of his friends were singing along. Under ordinary circumstances, the singing that occurred would be unwelcome, to put it nicely. But in this setting, it was beautiful.
When the song was over, the director of the organization said a few prayers and invited others in the room to come up and share their stories. They referred to him many times as "The King of Sampson Avenue", which is the name of the street he lived on.
I was amazed at the number of people who got up to share a story. Both caregivers and friends came up and relayed how this man touched their lives. The feeling of love that poured out of these people for him was immense. The recurring theme was that he truly loved everyone he came in contact with, and that the feeling was reciprocated by all he met.
As I stood there observing from the back of the room, I couldn't help being overcome with the emotion as it swept through like a giant wave. My eyes welled up beyond my capacity to hold the tears back, and I had to leave. Thank goodness I didn't have to direct anything because, at that point, I don't think I could have.
The service ended with Dean Martin's rendition of "That's Amore", and slowly some of the people started to leave. The somber look that everyone walked in with was gone and replaced by smiles and tears of joy. It was as if all at once, everyone came to the realization that he was finally at peace, and although they'll miss him terribly, he was in a better place.
You see, you don't have to be a well-known politician to have a positive affect on the lives of others. You don't have to be magnate of industry or a famous actor to make the world a better place. Sometimes, all you have to be is the King of Sampson Avenue.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
What's In A Name
With the percentage of people considered to be "practicing Catholics" at around 30%, the chances are pretty high that the priest, or celebrant, at the funeral Mass has never met the person in the casket who's soul he is about to spend the next 45 minutes praying for. Add in the fact that there are several places in the liturgy where that person's name needs to be inserted, one could see the intense pressure put on these priests to not screw it up. For example, as the priest looks down at his prayer book, he may come across a line such as, "Brothers and sisters, as we pray for the soul of name, we ask God ..." Pretty scary stuff.
For the most part, it is very rare that a major mistake is made. Sure, there is the occasional mispronunciation, but usually a priest can recover from that. A full-blown gaff, however, is like bad plastic surgery in that it can be both tragic and funny at the same time.
About ten years ago, I witnessed the perfect storm of a name gaff. There was a fill-in priest who happened to be a little crazy. He had this thick Irish accent, which by the way, I learned several years later was fake. He was notorious for being very theatrical and was known to mess up a name from time to time. This particular time was a doozy.
Unfortunately, the nickname of the deceased this day was Bobo, which, believe it or not, is not that uncommon of a name around these parts. It all started out quite normally. After the second Bobo, for some reason still not fully understood to this day, he started calling the guy "Bozo". I'm talking full-blown Shakespearean quality acting with a fake Irish accent thrown in for good measure. He must have said "Bozo" fifteen times. If there had been a rock in that chapel, I would have crawled under it.
Fortunately, Bobo's family was not that offended. I'm sure they still talk about it and laugh every Christmas when they sit around the dinner table.
Like the priest in the chapel on that hot sunny morning, I didn't know Bobo personally, but I can guarantee you, I'll never forget him.
For the most part, it is very rare that a major mistake is made. Sure, there is the occasional mispronunciation, but usually a priest can recover from that. A full-blown gaff, however, is like bad plastic surgery in that it can be both tragic and funny at the same time.
About ten years ago, I witnessed the perfect storm of a name gaff. There was a fill-in priest who happened to be a little crazy. He had this thick Irish accent, which by the way, I learned several years later was fake. He was notorious for being very theatrical and was known to mess up a name from time to time. This particular time was a doozy.
Unfortunately, the nickname of the deceased this day was Bobo, which, believe it or not, is not that uncommon of a name around these parts. It all started out quite normally. After the second Bobo, for some reason still not fully understood to this day, he started calling the guy "Bozo". I'm talking full-blown Shakespearean quality acting with a fake Irish accent thrown in for good measure. He must have said "Bozo" fifteen times. If there had been a rock in that chapel, I would have crawled under it.
Fortunately, Bobo's family was not that offended. I'm sure they still talk about it and laugh every Christmas when they sit around the dinner table.
Like the priest in the chapel on that hot sunny morning, I didn't know Bobo personally, but I can guarantee you, I'll never forget him.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Sit, Stand, Kneel
In the Book of Ecclesiastes, there is a very famous passage that beautifully describes that there is a time for everything in this life. The first two verses are as follows:
and a season for every activity under heaven:
A Time for Everything
1 There is a time for everything,and a season for every activity under heaven:
2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot
For those of us raised as Catholics, we know all too well that this logic applies to the Mass. For indeed, there is a time to sit, and a time to stand, a time to kneel, and a time to genuflect. We've had this instilled in us from birth.
Amazingly, this basic liturgical instinct betrays most Catholics when attending a Mass of Christian Burial, aka, Funeral Mass. For some reason, people simply have no idea when to stand, sit and kneel.
Being that this phenomenon is universal, I'm sure an ample amount of time is dedicated at the seminary to help priests better deal with this problem. Most are very good and hide their disdain for the congregation's lack of protocol well.
The common strategy is to incorporate verbiage such as "Please stand as we pray", or, "Please be seated for the readings." Others are more clever and enlist the funeral director to position himself in the front pew to stand, sit and kneel on cue, which I can tell you from experience, is not always successful.
There is one priest in particular, who I witnessed while helping a fellow funeral director in a neighboring state, that either missed this lesson in seminary, or chose to ignore it. He was an older gentleman who became a priest later in life. I'm guessing his first profession was either prison guard or dog trainer based on the way he less than delicately directed his flock.
His tact was to simply blurt out "SIT", "STAND", "KNEEL" at the appropriate time. I've never seen anything like it. It was so odd in fact, that I literally had trouble wrapping my mind around it.
The next time you're at a Funeral Mass, take notice at how the priest directs the congregation to stand, sit and kneel. I think you'll find it interesting. Hopefully this insight will help to bring a smile to your face during a very somber time.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
True Love: Luck or Destiny?
One of the great benefits of my job is getting to know, very intimately at times, the families I work with. During our discussions, I'll always ask the widow/widower how long they were married. Now, keep in mind, we're talking about a generation of people who've been through the Great Depression and World War II. People of outstanding character who know what it is to work at something and not give up when the chips are down.
It is not at all uncommon for these marriages to have lasted 50 to 60 years. Two years ago I buried a couple, who died less than a month apart, that were married for 72 years. In fact, at the time, they were the longest living couple on record.
My favorite follow-up question is: "How did you meet? The answers I get are amazing for two reasons. First, the instantaneous glow that emanates from them as they recall the memory of their first date, or how they met, is so obvious to everyone in the room that it's palpable. For a brief time, tears of grief are transformed into tears of joy. At that moment, the healing process has begun. It's truly beautiful to see. Second, and this is equally as interesting, is that more often than one might think, the initial meeting was completely by chance. A common response is: "Oh, my friend dragged me to a USO dance I really didn't want to go to. We fell in love as soon as we saw each other and were married six months later." The frequency of these occurrences is such that I do not believe them to be coincidence.
Fifty or sixty years later, that chance meeting has left a legacy of five children, seventeen grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. Amazing!
The question remains. Is true love luck or destiny? From where I'm sitting as an observer of countless lives lived, I have to say it's a little of both. Destiny is a funny thing. Not all of us are destined to find true love. For those who do, luck almost certainly has a hand in it.
It is not at all uncommon for these marriages to have lasted 50 to 60 years. Two years ago I buried a couple, who died less than a month apart, that were married for 72 years. In fact, at the time, they were the longest living couple on record.
My favorite follow-up question is: "How did you meet? The answers I get are amazing for two reasons. First, the instantaneous glow that emanates from them as they recall the memory of their first date, or how they met, is so obvious to everyone in the room that it's palpable. For a brief time, tears of grief are transformed into tears of joy. At that moment, the healing process has begun. It's truly beautiful to see. Second, and this is equally as interesting, is that more often than one might think, the initial meeting was completely by chance. A common response is: "Oh, my friend dragged me to a USO dance I really didn't want to go to. We fell in love as soon as we saw each other and were married six months later." The frequency of these occurrences is such that I do not believe them to be coincidence.
Fifty or sixty years later, that chance meeting has left a legacy of five children, seventeen grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. Amazing!
The question remains. Is true love luck or destiny? From where I'm sitting as an observer of countless lives lived, I have to say it's a little of both. Destiny is a funny thing. Not all of us are destined to find true love. For those who do, luck almost certainly has a hand in it.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Tipping Point
In a few hours, I will officially be 46 years of age. Given the fact that I plan on living, or should I say would like to live, God willing, on this planet until I am 90 years old, that means I have passed the half-way point of my life. The tipping point, so to speak.
Over the past dozen or so years, I've buried over 1500 people. Some of them were relatives of mine. Many were friends, or former teachers and coaches. Most I never knew. Some were very old and welcomed death with open arms, and some were just beginning their journey. Some left behind a legacy of children and grandchildren, while others died completely alone, their bloodline ended. Regardless of the circumstances, I've found that without exception, for better or worse, everyone leaves their mark on this world. Everyone leaves behind a story. I'll be forever grateful to the families I've worked with who shared these tales with me.
Adventures in Undertaking will share some of these stories. The names and the places will be changed to protect privacy. I'll also share with you some of the humorous behind the scenes events that happen on almost every funeral. I've spent the first half of my life wanting to share some of these stories. Now that I've reached my tipping point, I better start.
Over the past dozen or so years, I've buried over 1500 people. Some of them were relatives of mine. Many were friends, or former teachers and coaches. Most I never knew. Some were very old and welcomed death with open arms, and some were just beginning their journey. Some left behind a legacy of children and grandchildren, while others died completely alone, their bloodline ended. Regardless of the circumstances, I've found that without exception, for better or worse, everyone leaves their mark on this world. Everyone leaves behind a story. I'll be forever grateful to the families I've worked with who shared these tales with me.
Adventures in Undertaking will share some of these stories. The names and the places will be changed to protect privacy. I'll also share with you some of the humorous behind the scenes events that happen on almost every funeral. I've spent the first half of my life wanting to share some of these stories. Now that I've reached my tipping point, I better start.
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