Nothing is more simple than greatness; indeed, to be simple is to be great.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
A theory of mine, and I wonder if you agree, is that funerals bring out the best in people, while weddings not always the best.
I’m not saying that weddings are not blessed and happy events. They are. But now and again, based on my own experience, and from watching the occasional YouTube video (Best Wedding Fails), I’ve seen behavior ranging from the petty (why him and not me?), to the petulant (I can’t believe they put me at this table!), to the pathologically plastered (naked limbo everyone!) In the end, as long as no one is hurt or arrested, and the couple make it to their honeymoon with no embedded trauma, such incidents are usually chalked up to good fun – or, in the least, a memorable story to tell at a later date: “Let me tell you, Uncle Charlie, despite his arthritis and fake hip, is quite a table dancer.”
Funerals, though, and rightly so, are different. Depending on the life of the deceased and the circumstances of their passing, these gatherings can be sad and somber, sweet and sentimental, jarring and joyous, crushing or celebratory.
Or a little bit of each.
Often, the gamut of my emotions are ignited at funerals. And always to my betterment. I find something empowering about being with family and friends, acquaintances, even strangers, in unified grief. Such an atmosphere actually fills me with hope and a more positive feeling toward humanity. To me, it feels as if everyone has set aside for a moment themselves, the swirl of self-centered brain activity that is more and more cultivated in this narcissistic-trending world. And in replace of this inward-focus, this chasm of self-absorption, is a community mindset, a collective effort, to lift up and comfort those in pain.
I also believe funerals provide attendees with an opportunity (and a nudge) to reflect on what is most important in life…and to recalibrate accordingly. Just as many make New Year’s resolutions once the clock hits midnight, I have often heard people discuss changes they will make after watching someone they cared for be buried, i.e. “I’m going to spend more time with my children.” “I will never go to bed mad at my spouse again.” “I don’t tell my parents I love them enough. Never again.”
To this end, I recently had the honor of attending the funeral of a close friend’s father. And I experienced everything I described above – the collective care, compassion, and camaraderie. I was particularly moved by my friend’s eulogy for his father, a man who died at the tender age of 96. With my friend’s permission, and edited to maintain privacy, I am sharing his words below. I hope you will read, reflect, and, if inspired, and if needed, recalibrate accordingly.
“My dad was a simple, kind, loving, faithful, family-oriented son, husband, father, grandfather and great grandfather.
Simple…not in the boring, unsuccessful way. Simple in the most extraordinary, successful way.
Born in 1925, my dad was a Depression-era kid. He didn’t come from a lot, yet he never regretted his past…he was a grind-it-out, work-your-butt-off-to provide-for-your-family, kind of guy. Little to no fanfare. He commuted into New York City every day for 40 years. He never complained. Anything to provide for his family.
My dad had three priorities: God. Country. And his family. Again, simple in the most extraordinary way.
He enlisted in the Navy after high school, before eventually going to college. Why would you do that, I would ask him? Because I love my Country and wanted to serve it.
Simple.
He was a lifelong Church lectern, an usher and then Eucharistic Minister at church. Why would you do that dad, I would ask? Because I love God and wanted to serve Him.
Simple.
He had four children, 11 grandchildren, and seven great grandchildren. That’s a lot of kids and a lot of “things” happening all the time. Not simple! But my dad made it simple. Very simple. He made it simple by just loving everyone, all the time, unconditionally. It didn’t matter that you failed a test, lost your wallet, or even crashed the family car, my dad would just continue to love every single family member as much as he possibly could. He was all in, regardless of the chaos, situation, challenge. Dad would make the not simple, so simple. Love always, always, always, conquered all.
And speaking of love, I have never, and will never, in my lifetime, see anyone that loved someone else as much as dad truly loved my mom. Dad was always walking with her, holding hands with her, providing for her, protecting her, kissing her, hugging her, and just smiling at her. She was everything to him. Sixty-nine years of a love-filled marriage. The way that he looked at mom, adoringly, all the time, and the way he smiled at her, all the time, and the way he sang to her, all the time, literally daily, literally right up to the day last week when he passed. That will be the everlasting, extraordinary, simple memory I will always have of our role model…our hero…our Dad.
It amazes me that the people who lived through the hardest times, like my dad, turn out to be the nicest people. In his honor, I leave you with this simple, parting message: ‘Death leaves a heartache no one can heal – Love leaves a memory no one can steal’
—
Shutterstock image
Thank you for sharing your thoughts so generously.