The Sundance Channel: “The Funeral”

Well, the funeral was held at the funeral home itself, in the same room as the visitation was – as I said before, it is a very small place.

My family and I drove up and headed inside to look for a seat. Kim was at the end of her row for her ankle and sitting next to her sister. My niece had saved me a seat next to her at the other end of the row.

You know, those moments before the service starts are always sort of a fidgety time, aren’t they?

There’s that uncomfortable feeling you get just as the last seconds wind out and you realize that you have to be there – there’s a part of you that really doesn’t want to do this, but you are steadfastly held to your seat by a moral obligation that speaks higher to us than our own personal feelings or needs at that point.

I had made up my mind that I was not going to feel anything – dad’s ordeal had drained any sentiment out of me, and I figured I would approach this as business as usual. This would be sad – but I would remain unaffected.

Or, so I thought…

And then the service started. The reverend had some good words – I love words and I know they can have a profound healing effect on folks. I found some good stuff in what he said.

I began dabbing both eyes as I looked for the meaning in the words he was saying. My niece reached over and handed me a tissue. Somehow, I just felt comfortable enough around her to have her see me like this. Though, I tried real hard to look cool and wipe the tears away quickly and slyly.

The reverend paused for the first song and this man and woman duo sang the song. I believe it was “How Great Thou Art.” ‘

What is it about gospel music during a funeral that moves us so and touches us so deeply?

Is it that lull and break in the action that allows us the necessary moment to feel and express the sorrow and thoughts that are desperately manifesting themselves in the form of tears as our outward expression of grief?

Is it that part of the service that allows our minds to relax and gives us the permission to allow our feelings to come washing over us?

Or is it that we can see our own futures for ourselves in the notes of the hymn that are being played - and we are overwhelmed by the sheer gravity and magnitude of it all?

Perhaps, it is just that the song plays as a haunting melody – a tune that signals to all of us since we were young, that all things in this life come to pass?

Maybe, it just comes down to our innate human need of wanting to be connected to a power that is greater than we are? And that maybe the gospel tunes act as a catalyst that is used as a conduit to bridge the two worlds of the living and the deceased together?

And just maybe, it’s the longing of knowing that there lies something else beyond the earthly constraints that we’ve lived with all of our lives – and that we’re scared to break free from, because we don’t know what lays beyond this dimension?

I don’t know yet. – I just know that those are some very strong and powerful moments.

So, next up is Grandpa’s son – a former pastor. He begins by reading off a litany of the vital statistics of one’s life. And then he talks about his dad as a man, father, husband and a member of the community. This was quite interesting.

I learned quite a few things about the man that day. I learned that he worked very hard as a young man – for about $1 a day. From that, he had the responsibility of feeding eight mouths and providing for his family.

That was a tall order and I could only imagine what he went through to do that. Grandpa worked for the state highway department in PA – he was a road grader. And by all accounts, he was touted as being one of the best in the business – if not the best.

Apparently, one snowy and icy day, he was called to back up a huge truck that was fully loaded with cargo, back down this steep and winding hill. No one else would volunteer, but he did. It was apparently no small feat and he was heralded for his achievement.

Those that are familiar with that part of the country will know that they have these side roads at the bottom of the hills that the truck drivers can use to ‘ditch’ the vehicle should the brakes fail coming down those long hills.

Now, let’s talk about the ‘grandpa’ that I knew…

He lived to be 95 – I don’t feel he was cheated - he lived a full life – was wealthier with friends and family than I will ever be. He drank clean water – he breathed clean air – he got to retire early and enjoy that time that most of us can only hope to see.

I first met him in 1989. All of the old school family was still living during that time, so it was much different then, than what it is today.

One evening, I was talking to him. I told him that my grandpa on my mom’s side was pretty sick and I only had about two memories I could recall, besides all of the years we went to see him in the nursing home.

And I told him that my grandpa on my dad’s side was not really fond of children. His mantra was, “That a child was to be seen – and not heard.”

Back in those times, children were seen more as farm animals – they were a commodity like an old mule that could be used to help with the chores and to plow the fields and pick the cotton and whatnot. Both sides of my family were a family of farmers.

So, I never had the loving memories of a grandfather from either side of the family. I asked him if it would be okay for me to call him my ‘grandpa?’ He said it would be okay. We took a picture that night to commemorate the event.

Back in those days, I thought I was really part of their family, even though we were only living together and not married. I had suffered my own family losses and found myself with Kim. I was trying to build a family back in and was still learning what it meant to try and be a man.

He was always very nice to me and treated me like a person. I have no ill feelings towards him at all. In the short times I got to spend with him he showed me many things.

He was very proud of his cars. He had a 1928 Ford Model-T….and a 1932 Roadster, with a rumble seat. Many people in the family had ridden in those cars and it was an honor to get to ride – he didn’t let just anybody ride in his cars.

I’ll never forget the rides in each one of them. That Model-T was something special and it was bare bones, but a cool ride – we got looks puttering down the road in that thing.

I won’t forget the day I got my ride in the ’32 either. We sat inside for the first part of the ride. He had this place he wanted to take me to. We pulled off down this road and came to a stop at this place that had a pipe that extended from a natural spring out to the road, where it pooled into a barrel.

He told me it was the best water I would ever drink. I mean the pipe was just draining water out and I was thinking conservation at first, but apparently, it recycled so it was not wasted.

I remember walking up to the pipe and cupping my hands under it, like I used to do when I was a child, and gulping down some of the cleanest, most refreshing water I’ve ever tasted in my life…yep, that’s what I said….”Tasted.”

I said, “Don’t you filter this stuff for formaldehyde and bacteria and the like?” He said, “We don’t need to – it’s all natural.”

It was organic – before organic was cool:)

We filled up a big jug to take back with us….and that’s what the locals do…it’s like a drive-up….you just drive up to the side of the road and fill your containers full of water – and then take off – and it’s all free for the taking.

What a concept...

The next day for lunch, we went to their place and Grandma (one of the good ones) made some ham sandwiches. She had a pitcher of the spring water that we drew the day before. I eagerly rushed in to pour myself a full glass, because I knew it was going to last long – it didn’t.

And it was unbelievable!

It was one of the few times in my life where I’ve chosen water over a soft drink or sweet tea. It’s so amazing, because it already comes to you really cold….like ground water is when cooled by the earth – nature’s way of chillin.’

My encounter with the spring was all too brief – a couple of handfuls of water at the spring and then one glass the next day – and then that experience was over – but, I’ve never forgotten it.

I thought I’d never relive that again…and I didn’t…until this recent trip…it had been 23-years since my lips last tasted that nectar. We’ll circle back around for that story later on...

Grandpa was a turkey hunter and he loved to regale me with the stories of his hunts….he had a nice gobbler mounted on his wall that he was quite proud of. He showed me how to scratch the wood to make that turkey gobble sound.

Another time that we were visiting their house, I got up and went outside to sit out in his porch. Some time had gone by and he came out looking for me and asked me what I was doing.

I told him, “I’m enjoying your country and the outside with this wonderful view.”

That was – and always has been my thing in PA. You don’t have to ask where Craig is, because he is outside taking in all of the breathtaking scenery that he never gets the chance to see where he’s from. I’ve stayed true to that theme during this recent visit too.

Anyway, Grandpa pulled up a chair next to me and we sat there together – sometimes talking – and sometimes just sitting in silence. It was just nice weather and a beautiful view and a stillness that was somehow so reassuring.

A car would pass down the road every now and then again and true to the old-school values, the folks would wave as they passed by and we’d wave back at them. There’s just something so down home about all of that – something that really connects us as people. I remember these times from my own childhood experiences out on my grandparent’s farm.

It is so simplistic in its nature, but harks back to a time when neighbors cared about neighbors and the local folks coming down the road might be the only entertainment in town for the afternoon.

I just love “the old school.”

Which is funny to me, because as a young man, I railed against the establishment and tried not to conform to all of the values and ideals that my elders held. Now, as I have grown older, I find myself gravitating back to those same virtues and principles and holding them in high esteem.

It pays to listen to what the old-school folks think – they have already walked the roads less travelled and have seen the things that many of us will never get the opportunity to see in our lifetimes. Their wisdom and knowledge and ways of doing things may seem antiquated now, but I find that even in modern times, they still hold up.

I find that the code that they lived by will continue to endure with the generation of folks that were touched by those teachings and want to hold on to that special time in their lives, where things were just of a different way – from a different era.

It’s amazing to me how when we are young, we think we already know all the answers to the quiz – even before the test is given.

We must have sat there for a couple of good hours that sunny afternoon. The house they lived in was a story all in itself. If memory serves correctly, that house was built back around 1880 or so….so it’s at least 130-years old, if not more.

It was their family house – and many generations of their family were raised and lived between those walls on that country lane. It held a few precious memories for me as well.

One day, we came over and Grandpa would have been about 83 then. And there he was….standing on a ladder about 30-feet up in the air – scraping and painting his house. I told him that he was my hero. I was just so amazed at the vitality and energy that he had.

On another visit, Grandpa had not been feeling too well and asked me to mow his ‘side yard.’ It looked like a football field, it was so big. They had a lot of acreage. So, I jumped on his riding mower and knocked that one out for him that time.

Probably my most endearing memory came during Kim’s mother’s funeral. Grandma and Grandpa were both sitting at the end of the reception line next to their daughter’s casket.

I had watched that day from a distance and observed all of the well-wishers coming by and paying their last respects to them. It was and still is a very haunting image – an image I had shuttered, before I began writing this paragraph.

I can still see the pain in both of their faces as each mourner greeted them and moved on. What struck me then was how wrong and how hard it must have been for the both of them to have lost their daughter – to have outlived her. We all know it’s not natural for the parents to bury the children.

And that was the other thing about yesterday’s visitation – from my observation spot, I could still see them sitting at the foot of the casket. And now, here was Grandpa laid out in his own.

Everywhere I look – I see the faces and recall the memories – this is starting to get crazy.

The funeral was kind of long; it went an hour or so. Again, a marked difference between how funerals are done in the South. Most of the funerals, including my dad’s are done and over with in about thirty-minutes.

So, we all passed by the casket to say good-bye. Kim was still visibly upset and wanted to stay a little bit more, so I went back up with her. And the remainder of my side of the family was there too.

Grandpa looked different than the last time I had seen him, but it had been a long time. I remember when my dad died and the nurses suggested that I might want to come up there and see him, before they took him away. She said the look would be different than at the funeral home.

She was so right about that – and I’m so glad that I did. Dad looked different in many ways than he did right after he passed – the naturalness was gone. I remember smelling a funny smell when I first got to see my dad. I first thought it was the flowers, but it was more chemical than that.

I later read that during the embalming process that they treat the outside of the body as well – so, that’s what I was smelling – embalming fluid.

And Grandpa had the same processed look too. He didn’t look bad per say, it was just different.

Anyway, my niece and nephew came to the casket, holding their daughter. She just turned 3-years old and we’re going to devote a whole episode to her in the coming installments.

The story has it that she went to see Grandpa not too long ago and she sat in his lap and they took a picture together. That had meant so much to him I was told.

Anyway, this little darling was being held by her father and they are telling her to say goodbye. Most of us had the wet look of tears in our eyes. I was watching her wave to him and I saw her little eyes begin to pool with water.

It was a very touching and poignant moment…

I couldn’t tell if she was feeding off of our reactions – kids do emulate the adult’s behavior, especially if they have never been exposed to that phenomenon.

Or maybe, she was feeling something on her own – she’s very bright and empathetic. Whatever it was, I can only say that it was heartbreaking and very moving.

That’s an image I’ll never be able to forget – the sight of her with those little tears in her eyes saying goodbye.

It was time to head for the cemetery for those that were going to the interment. As the procession made its way down the winding roads, I found out that we were going to drive right by his house.

It was run down and was in need of some maintenance – he had been out of the house since Grandma had died and so the house had sat empty.

As we passed by the old place, I looked earnestly towards the porch and saw the chairs still sitting there – with me in one and Grandpa in the other. And then we whizzed by the barn where he first showed me his cars, tractors and heavy farm implements.

It all came rushing back to me in an instant and after only a few seconds, the house and those memories were in the rear-view mirror – for good now.

We arrived at the cemetery and went graveside. It was extremely hot and I was just burning up in my suit – much like I was on the day we buried my dad – it was 106 that day in TX, but in PA it was about 101 that day.

Needless to say, that part of the service was quick as there were no trees to seek refuge under. It’s an old cemetery and the original patriarch and matriarch’s family tombstones showed they were born in 1886…I believe that’s the oldest tombstone I’ve ever seen and it was quite interesting to be seeing some old history such as that.

It’s interesting how they inter the bodies here in the north, versus what happens in my part of the country.

When we did dad’s, everything is all pristine…you’ve got a big tent, chairs, and they put down that green Astroturf to disguise the hole to give it a more sanitary look or something. I guess they figure that if they soften the area, we will somehow not be aware of what is really about to take place.

In stark contrast, for her grandpa’s, they had a big wench directly over the grave – and there was nothing covering the hole – you could see the cavity and its depth. It had been many years since I’ve seen that – going all the way back to when I was a little boy.

At one of my relative’s funeral when I was very little, perhaps 7 or 8, I was curious as to what was in those holes – so I stepped to the very edge and slipped on the loose dirt and nearly went spilling into the grave. I can recall that sort of shook me up then.

It was just really different…but in the end, the result is always the same….

Having concluded the service, it was time to go to the church for the after funeral dinner. This was old school for me and the way that I always remembered it being sometimes, if you did not go to someone’s house for the dinner.

In Texas, they asked us if we wanted dinner for the family and how many would be coming? I told them four people would be coming and they said they would hold a dinner just for them.

I asked about the rest of the church congregation? They said, it was for the family only – and I told them politely, “No thanks, we’d get a bite out after the services.

Again, just really different…things have sure changed.

After lunch, I talked with a few other folks I recognized and that all went fine. I looked at some of the pictures they had put on the white board. And then I decided to go do something for myself.

We were back in the church where Kim and I exchanged our nuptials. I wanted to revisit this old haunt, as it had been nearly 21-years since I had stepped foot into those hallowed halls.

I was by myself and couldn’t find the chapel. I thought it was on the first floor, but it wasn’t there anymore – what happened?

Memory is what happened. The chapel was up the stairs on the second floor – now it was starting to come together again.

And just like that, I was back in time again. It was very hot inside – just like it was on the day that we got married. The church was about 130-years old then, so it’s got to be 150-151 years old now.

They had no air conditioning then – and do not today. They flip the windows open and run a couple of heavy duty fans in each corner – and then you live with it.

I made my way back down to the altar and looked up in the balcony – I could still hear the soloist singing, “Wind Beneath Your Wings” as part of our ceremony.

I turned back around and took the bottom floor and the balcony back in – it’s funny, but it seemed like the room was smaller than it was then. It’s crazy to me how our perceptions can change – and what it is that we remember – or think we remember.

Still staring at the empty pews, once again all of the faces from the past were present in that auditorium. I could still see and remember what they were wearing and what their facial expressions were.

I saw Kim’s mom – and I saw my dad. I saw my young nephew and my young niece, who passed out during the ceremony from overheating – it was really hot. I could still hear the loud “BLAP” as she hit the floor, stunning all of us and temporarily stopping the service.

It was as if I was staring through a looking glass – now on the outside, but trying to look back in once more. It was haunting – it was chilling – it was absolutely surreal – and it seemed like just yesterday.

But, it was yesteryear - and this was now.

I stood at the altar and tried to feel the hope again of what it was like to try and take my place in adulthood, as I took the next step towards trying to be a man.

I was damaged goods, but thought that with Kim, I could make my life whole and turn my life around and take my place in society, as so many folks have done in their lives.

We were young and innocent – our whole lives were ahead of us – full of promise and adventure. I held the life of this woman in my hands and she trusted me to take care of her and provide a good life.

Now, as I stood at the same altar, in the exact spot that I took those sacred vows, I asked myself where did things go so terribly wrong?

What happened to the two naïve children, who thought it was time to stop playing house and do it for real?

All of the sights and sounds from the past were reverberating in my mind. Every step that I took and everywhere I could see, I found myself – and ourselves standing in those spots, all along the parade route, from that long ago past – which, at that moment in time, seemed like such a bright new beginning with a hopeful future.

I couldn’t see then what the future would hold – I just knew that Kim and I would try and make a go of it and I would try and be what a normal person should be. I wanted so much to be something to her – but, I just didn’t know how.

Now, as I gazed past the history of events that have unfolded, I wonder what life would have been without Kim – and what her life would have been without me.

For me, I probably would not be alive – I would not have kept that first colonoscopy and the situation would have been untenable by the time I had gotten around to it – I know that now – that’s who and what I was then. She intervened and played a tremendous role in saving my life.

I often wonder if Kim would have been better off, had I not chosen to follow through on the scope and had passed away. She would have been free from those burdens and certainly better off financially, had I passed.

I always just wonder if she had chosen someone else, would her life have been better spent? Would she have married the man she should have – had children – and been with a better family than what I could offer?

She got the raw end of the deal…

But, I’ve never stopped trying to be whatever it is that I’m supposed to be – or that I can find to be. I’ve looked everywhere – and I’m still searching.

I guess I just think how each of us holds each other’s life in our hands – and the decisions that we make, or don’t make – can have such long lasting ramifications – and we’re always left to wonder What If.

My niece found me in the chapel and snapped me out of my trance and said it was time to be heading out, so I made the break from the past and picked it back up in the present.

It’s just strange that I find myself with a sort of sentimental attachment to the things that I had done during my limited engagements with her family – in her town.

A part of me was here – not a part of any lasting significance, but a part of me was here…and the memories, much like the ghosts from the past, still roam these halls, in the far corners of my mind.

And I can feel myself changing a little bit with each passing day…

-Craig


Next Episode: “Redefining the Definition of Family”

The business has concluded and now it’s time to set my own mark in the matrix and redefine what a family means to me – it’s family time now – and we’re gonna’ have some fun and discover a whole new world, that only days before had been unimaginable.