As basically the rest of the nation gathered around the dinner table for a Thanksgiving meal, one family gathered around a hospital bed for more bitter than sweet tragedy. A family friend of ours, the woman who will tell you quite frankly, "changed my diapers," lost her husband. The husband loved all the children the wife baby sat as if they were their own, and some of them were. Subsequently, my family became very close with their family. Ruth and Irwin are their names. I say that the loss is bitter-sweet because Irwin, 74-years-old, was in a state of declining health. He simply was suffering, and he's no longer in pain. Obviously, it is bitter because of the way his ailments were relieved.
Much like most people when they are faced with an unfortunate event, I begin to do a lot of contemplation. I'll spear the readers the existential meaning of it all, but I would like to focus on a thought that crossed my mind. Many of you have heard of the 7 stages of grief. While in my melancholy mediation, I came up with the 3 phases of a funeral for someone you are really close to.
Much like the first stage in the 7, my first stage I came up with is the shock and disbelief stage. In this initial stage, and presuming one is close to the deceased, the news is broken rather quickly, within the first 12 hours or so. At this point, the person steps back and tries to piece together the reality they now live in. The questions surface quicker than a diver running out of air. "Is this true? Are you joking? Are you serious?" After the first wave hits, then comes the disbelief of ,"There is no way. This can't be true!" Eventually, the truth is accepted as that and the next phase begins.
Phase 2 is the sorrowful stage. In Irwin's case for me, this starts at the viewing. If there was any doubt that the person in question was actually dead, they are also laid to rest when you enter the funeral home. Quietly, music plays as you progress through the line of people and family of the deceased to pay your respects. Personally this time, I was doing so well until we actually left the home. My girlfriend by my side, I walked down the street and I just couldn't fight it anymore. Almost involuntarily, my emotions got the best of me. I sat in her car, wiped away the tears, and tried to empathize with how the family felt. That was the hardest part.
This phase, at least in this case, extended to the mass of christian burial. This is another place where emotions can overcome us. In a similar manner of how orange juice is made, this phase is all about squeezing out as much raw feeling as your body will allow. In this case, my "oranges" were as juiced as they were going to get after the viewing.
Catholic funerals are interesting because they are never too long for those who were really close to the deceased. In fact, I always get lost in the flow of the mass. Then, the priest reminds me why we are here. "We have come to the final farewell," is my wake up call. As the service finishes up and the dirges fade away, the lump reappears. It gets harder to sing as the family blesses the remains with holy water, and a few more tears follow the drops of water.
Irwin's grandson, serving his first mass ever as a surprise to grandma, begins to wipe his eyes. Tears form in mine, but all that comes out is my hand patting his back in hopes to comfort the young guy who kept giving me thumbs up all mass. It was my job to teach him how to be an alter server that day, and that was the toughest lesson I had to teach.
The final phase is the reminiscing portion. After all the tissues have been soaked and thrown away, and the burial has occurred, it is time to eat. We have a feast in Irwin's honor. You know you are in a room full of gentlemen and ladies when they open the buffet line and no one moves. The guests insisted that family go first, and family encouraged guests to go first. The stalemate was settled when the wife finally got food, family followed after with guests as the best for last.
At this stage, there is much laughter, story telling and catching up. The social hall, while not even half full, is filled with love. As I walk out of the social hall, I feel content knowing that despite starting break off in gloom, it ended in the true spirit of the holiday. We were thankful for each other, our time together, but most of all, for Irwin.
While the pain and grieving may continue at their own pace for everyone, these are just some observations I have made after serving many funerals and spectating other. Results may vary.
In loving memory of Irwin M. Hill Jr. May his family, if they read this, know they are in my thoughts and prayers. I only hope that anyone who reads this may get a smile, may connect with it, but I especially hope that the family feels loved, as well as everyone else that may read this.
