Some funerals are fun

January 30, 2019

When I told my 87 year old mother yesterday that I had just come back from a funeral that I had attended because I thought it would be a good party, she was scandalized. “You’re supposed to go to funerals to pray for the person who died,” she gently chided me, “not to have a good time.”

I explained that there were people there who I hadn’t seen in decades, and I wanted to reconnect with them. Besides, the deceased person wouldn’t mind what my motives were; he wouldn’t know or care why I was there. And his ex-wife, sister, and two adult sons appreciated my supportive presence. So there, Mom! She grudgingly admitted that as long as I was comforting his family, it was OK for me to enjoy myself at the event.

George had died unexpectedly at 72, and for his sons especially it was a sudden loss and a time of grief. I had known George for almost half a century, but hadn’t seen him in about five years and wasn’t a close friend. So it was easier for me to be detached, whereas his family understandably was still getting over the shock of his sudden death of an apparent heart attack.

The religious rites were interesting. George had been raised Catholic, then was a Nichiren Buddhist in the 1970’s when I first met him, then he became an Orthodox Christian in the last years of his life. The service was in the domed St Seraphim Eastern Orthodox church in Santa Rosa, CA. The building features beautiful, brightly colored frescoes of Jesus, Mary, and various saints. Most of the service was sung, by the priests, a choir, and occasionally the congregants. There were candles everywhere, and each of us held one as well. The priests frequently waved an incense burner over the flower-bedecked casket. In other words, lots of rituals. Had it been a Nichiren Buddhist memorial service, there would have been no candles, singing, or saints, but there would have been chanting and the vibe would have been more upbeat.

After the service five of us bad Buddhist boys played hooky from the cemetery burial and sneaked away to a nearby Starbucks to catch up with each other. Then we high-tailed it back to the church just in time for lunch.

     I don’t know whether George was a very religious Christian at the end, but as our mutual Buddhist buddy Joseph noted, he had found at St Seraphim’s a community of people he loved and who loved him. And that’s what counts, not which denomination or religious tradition one follows. Especially now, as the world seems ever more unstable, it’s good to be connected to our fellow human beings in as many ways as we can.

At lunch I swapped youthful Buddhist war stories with friends Marilyn, Bonny, and Joseph. I hadn’t seen the two women in decades, and it was so gratifying to see them healthy and doing well. They were the reason I was there, not George, though I wished George bon voyage on his ongoing journey. Heart to heart dialogue – it doesn’t get any better than that. I even did an Irish jig for Marilyn. George would have laughed. Come to think of it, maybe he did.

My father insisted that his memorial event be a good time for all, and I have stated that same desire in my own will. My farewell will be a fun party, and you are invited. Only trouble is, I don’t have a date yet. Might not happen for another 25 years. Check back with me in 2044. And if I’m broke when I die, then it will be a potluck.