Freestyling at a Funeral

 Let's talk about something fun.  Something like, oh I don't know, a funeral.

One of Kevin's childhood best friends father passed away after a lengthy battle with dementia.  The father was a sort of father-figure for Kevin as his dad was gone while working most of his childhood.  Mr. Smith, as I will refer to him, lived next door to Kevin's house with FIVE sons, all born within a ten year span.  One son was Kevin's childhood best friend, while he was friends with the other brothers too, and one son was Kevin's brother's best friend.  They were the quintessential neighborhood boys and friends.

Mr. Smith was a godly man in the way that it was meant to be understood.  He was like a Hallmark Movie Channel good man.  Kind, gentle, stern when it was necessary, and giving. Always willing to give anyone a hand.  Everything he had he built and earned and he shared his time and talents.

One of the last interactions he had with Kevin before the dementia set in was at his son's house.  He said hello to Kevin as he usually did.  He said "Any day that I wake up on this side of the dirt is a good day" like he usually did.  Then he hesitated for just a moment.  "You know, I haven't hugged you since you were a small boy.  I'm going to hug you now." and hugged him tight. 

Yes, yes, I did fight back tears when that happened and while writing this now.

So, five sons.  Kind of like the pastor's kids are always the wild ones, these boys were the rebellious boys who grew up in the 60's and 70's.  All mostly good humans with humanly flaws.  All distinctly different.  

With that in mind, and the godly thing, we expected a large funeral.  The regular church building wasn't available so the family had to improvise.  They borrowed another church's space; except their church is being built/remodeled and isn't ready yet.  They offered their temporary space.

In the courtyard of an abandoned mall.  Where Santa used to reside during the holidays.

To be fair, it's not totally abandoned. There is a movie theatre on one end and a Chuck E. Cheese on the opposite end.

We entered through the main entrance, where there used to be jewelry stores and sunglass kiosks, the Easter Bunny and aforementioned Santa.  So, this already feels weird.

People are mingling throughout the large space and we just kind of hovered off to the side and greeted the family and friends as we eventually  merged together.  There was a lot of "Wow, they got old" and "I haven't seen them since..." as happens at these kinds of functions.

The funeral didn't start on time so we were all kind of waiting.  I began to glance around.  The GNC Health store was now a makeshift coffee service area. One of the jewelry stores was children's bible study/childcare.  The rest are barricaded by glass doors, security doors, and in some cases plywood.  Very apocalyptic.  

You know those information kiosks that have the map of the mall and advertising for all the stores?  We happened to be standing next to one and I started to look at it.  It had been converted (church joke! ha!) over to a bulletin board/welcome sign for the church.  On the surface, it was fine.  Upon closer inspection, the candid photos they used were terrible.  Specifically terrible if taken out of context:

(apologies for the terrible glare.  Again: it was in a MALL)

#1 looks like a waterboarding  #2 looks like a reunification after a kidnapping

#3 just hurts my heart.  The little hands over his ears.

And the other photos weren't any better. It felt like they had a high school senior who didn't understand CONTEXT take and arrange the photos.

Finally, we were invited to go into the funeral and be seated.  Where Santa's workshop usually would be was a stage like for a low budget theatre or choir.  Complete with a terrible microphone, a music stand as a podium, and a keyboard.  It immediately reminded me of the SNL skit.

This is frighteningly accurate but age them about twenty years

There wasn't ushers so everyone just kind of haphazardly sat wherever.  There were large gaps everywhere.  Kleenex boxes sat on the tile floor of the mall at the end of each row.  They had been there a minute, if you get what I'm trying to convey.  There's no candles, few flowers, and no decorations of any kind.  Oh, black curtained backdrop and black carpeting on the stage.  SUPER unwelcoming.

We sat and the ceremony finally began.  The pastor kept saying Mr. Smith's name incorrectly, adding an extra letter.  This is one of my annoyances with funerals: when the pastor doesn't know the decedent.  Then he reads word-for-word the obituary that was in the newspaper and social media.  Finally, he segues into how  this is a good day and I'm screaming in my head.  He explains that Mr. Smith is no longer suffering  (which IS good) but now that he gets to celebrate, be reunited, etc.  Sigh.

Meanwhile, I'm thinking: I'm sure his family is happy he's not suffering but I'm also sure they'd rather have him here.  But this is something that is said at every funeral so moving on.

Then the pastor tells the story of how Mr. Smith met his wife.  He was driving down the street, saw his wife walking down the sidewalk and stopped to say hello.  She told him that she couldn't talk to him until he met her parents.  This sounds very sentimental for times past until you know that she was 14.  He was 18.  YIKES.  But they were married 66 years so all's well that ends well, I guess.

This is then where we learn that the pastor who keeps mispronouncing his name is his BEST FRIEND.  What the what.  But he told nice stories about church, camping and fishing, etc.  Old man stories, if you will.

Then one of his daughters-in-law stepped up to speak the eulogy, Kevin and his brother both sighed like "oh...no..." when she stepped up to speak so I was ready for anything.  The problem being was it was nearly exactly the obituary.  Finally, toward the end she began to speak a little more personally.  She gets points for trying.

Then the eldest son spoke.  He did fine, it was fine.  Another rehashing of the obituary, basically.  I was disappointed on Mr. Smith's behalf because there are plenty of stories to tell about his life.

Now it was the church part.  I didn't participate in prayer because it would be insincere and pretending felt more egregious than not.  About third prayer/psalm/bible verse in, the pastor clocked me doing that.  At first I was feeling a little rebellious then I realized that if he were sincere and engaged, he shouldn't have noticed me.  Also, not the first time I've felt a disproving glance.  lolsigh.

There was passages about relief from suffering and how it's all worth if for the great reward.  I took a deep breath and Kevin nudged me with an elbow.  The pastor said something about the price having been paid for redemption and another big deep breath from me.  Mr. Smith did not have a gentle death, he was suffering in ways I don't want to describe.  Then add that we have a father in a similar situation for context and I just couldn't with the YEA JESUS!  YEA RESURRECTION!

Then there was a song.  All is Well Within My Soul.  One of the few hymns that I actually like.  This was also one my mom's favorites and then that made me think about how she should have had any kind of funeral - even one as awful as this one - and didn't.

Now, the singer was in her eighties.  In a wheelchair.  Not visible to anyone but the front row and the pastor and his wife, who was the keyboard player.  The singer missed the opening notes.  The keyboard player mouthed the words to her and started over.  One, twice, third times a charm.  At first,  I thought maybe it was a child - like a grandchild - then it was clear it was an elderly lady.

So, she sung the first verse through then...stopped.  The keyboardist tried again, the AV person put the lyrics on the screen and ... nothing.  Finally she said "I'm sorry, I've forgotten the words.  You all know it so you can sing it..." but the Pastor decided to move on.

Back to the church stuff so I tuned out.  I looked around at the space.  The courtyard has glass spires, like mountain tops.  Someone had strung sheets or dropcloths across the courtyard "ceiling", about fifteen feet high. To block the direct sun, maybe?  They didn't match, they weren't tied nicely, just cobbled together.  There were screens with black fabric blocking off the two branches of the mall to the left and right.  The windows needed washed, everything needed dusted and swept.  It was just sad and dingy.  Again, I was disappointed as Mr. Smith deserved a nice church and a nice ceremony. 

(oh I forgot to mention: it was a 10:00 ceremony on a Saturday morning. Inconvenient and depressing)

Now it's the time of funerals that I hate more than the church part.  The testimonials from the crowd, where they pass the mike so people could tell stories.  Only one woman stood and spoke.  She told a long-winded, albeit nice, story then sat down.  Then there's that awkward pause while they wait for someone else to speak.  No one did.

The pastor indicates that it's time for the next song: Amazing Grace.  Okay, standard church fare, always good for a few tears.  Well, grandma was singing again.  Sigh.  She made it through the first verse then sung a WHOLE OTHER SONG.  Without thinking, I'm all "That's not the right song..." audibly and Kevin started to laugh, horrified.

She kind of finished, interrupted herself, then said she'd forgotten the words but she would finish the FIRST song now and started to sing.  HAND TO GOD I DON'T BELIEVE IN, this went on for almost five minutes and a mishmash of songs.  Finally she says into the mic "I just can't remember. You all just sing. Sing together. what ever song you like..."

Now I'm laughing and said to Kevin "So...we're freestyling now..."

Thankfully the pastor finally stepped in and said "Thank you, we're done now" and it took three tries to get her to stop.  It was like an Adam Sandler movie and I kept waiting for someone to slap the mic out her hand.

Then it was over.  A  thanks for coming, a quick prayer and it was done.  I watched as people kind of started to leave but again: no ushers so it's a mess.  I watched three young women go take selfies next to the casket and wanted to yell very loudly at them.  No one notices or shoos them away. 

No procession, no food, no guidance.  It had been announced that the body would be interred at the family plot in another town but no one was moving, leaving, anything.  The casket is still sitting there, unattended now, while people mill about.

We stood awkwardly for a few minutes, said goodbye then left.  We just couldn't anymore.  It was so disappointing, he deserved such a better ceremony.  But, it gave us a good story to tell.